


Desperate Measures

by Excuse_me_bitch_did_i_stutter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Child Abuse, Depression, Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-04-26 05:31:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 75,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14395320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Excuse_me_bitch_did_i_stutter/pseuds/Excuse_me_bitch_did_i_stutter
Summary: When an argument in the Dursley household turns deadly, Harry must do whatever it takes to protect himself. As he struggles with guilt over his decisions and the imminent consequences of his actions loom over him, Harry's world is slowly encapsulated in darkness. (Set during Prisoner of Azkaban)





	1. Chapter 1

The portly woman sat with her legs crossed studiously underneath the table, a glass of brandy in her right hand and a small polaroid picture grasped in her left. She examined the weathered polaroid carefully, taking in each detail of the old, crinkled photograph. It depicted a casual scene of two young girls standing side by side in front of a shabby looking spruce tree. The small tree was decorated in golden tinsel and several homemade ornaments of various colors and sizes, but the focus of the picture was the youngest girl. She appeared to be about eleven with shining vermilion hair, dazzling green eyes, and a light sprinkle of freckles dotting her nose and cheeks. Her bright smile seemed to light up the room, and she had her arms thrown around the slightly older looking girl, who stood rail straight looking slightly uncomfortable. The taller mousy, brown-haired figure stared into the camera’s lens with neither a smile nor a frown. She appeared quite plain in comparison to her younger sister, and the photograph seemed to capture her contempt for the vivacious little girl.

“Even then, you can see it.” The woman spat. “It’s just like with my dogs, you can tell when they’re young if they’ll amount to anything. It should have been obvious that she’d end up a whore,” She stated, dropping the photo back inside an old shoe box filled with newspaper clippings and mementos.

Across the table from the fat woman sat an equally overweight man who chuckled at her declaration. He nodded in affirmation, and then poured himself another glass of amber liquid from a tall crystal bottle. “That’s what I tried to tell Petunia about the boy!” He bellowed, taking a swig. “From the second she brought him in off the steps, I knew!”

At his words, a thin woman emerged from the kitchen, carrying a beautifully decorated cake on a platter, nodding at his words. “I know, Vernon. Back then, I didn’t see it, and I hoped that he would be different, but I should’ve listened. It would have saved us years of trouble.”

“It’s like I always say about buying a dog, If there’s something wrong with the bitch, there’ll be something wrong with the pup!” The fat woman guffawed again, spilling a bit of brandy onto the front of her shirt.

Soon, the whole table of adults were laughing, and a plump child joined in, grabbing a large mound of cake from the serving platter on the table and shoving a handful into his mouth. Just around the corner in the kitchen, a young boy stood silently watching the scene, his hands shaking in anger.

It was his mother that they spoke about. They called her a whore, a bitch, a freak, but she hadn’t been any of those things. She had been a great woman, revered for her beauty and wit. She was a brilliant witch, friend, and mother. He couldn’t even remember her voice. But there they all sat, mocking her; laughing as though the deceased child in the photograph hadn’t once been a kind, brave, amazing person.

Harry Potter had lived with this family, the Dursleys, since he was only fifteen months old. He had grown up unloved and unwanted in a home where he was treated more like a slave than a child. He was given countless backbreaking chores and tedious tasks to accomplish each day, and he was punished for the smallest transgressions. He wanted to be good; he always tried to stay out of trouble, but he could never quite manage it. Harry was often beaten for his blunders, earning vicious whippings with a belt for failing to live up to his uncle’s standards. He was used to the pain. When he wasn’t being injured by his uncle or doing chores, he was being hunted down by his cousin Dudley and beaten for simply existing.

He had grown up in a small cupboard underneath the stairs, filled with spider webs and dust. When he was much younger, he would stare up at the ceiling of his cupboard wondering about his parents. He envisioned what they would have looked like; what kind of people they would have been. He wondered if they would love him, or if they would think he was a freak too. He had vivid daydreams about the couple, yet he didn’t know much about them. His aunt and uncle would tell him that they had been worthless. His father had been a good-for-nothing drunk. His mother had been a cheap-whore. He had been the accidental product of two worthless people who had gotten themselves killed in a drunken car crash.

It wasn’t until Harry was eleven that he found out all the hate fueled speech that spewed from the mouths of his family was completely false. His parents had been wonderful people who were murdered under unusual circumstances. He was shocked to find out that his parents had been magical and that he too was a wizard. Now he spent ten months out of the year at a wizarding school called Hogwarts where he had friends and people who cared for him. He had finally found a home, and it was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him, but he still would have given anything to have known his mother, Lilly; To have seen her smile in person, to have spoken to her even once, to have hugged her. But he would never get the chance to do any of those things. She was dead.

The shrill laughter of his so-called family continued, and Harry felt fury surge through him. His face turned a dark red color, making his bright green eyes, identical to his mother’s, even more striking than usual. He peered down at his hands. A few minutes earlier, his hands had hung calmly at his sides, to make himself seem docile and well-behaved, but now, his fists were clenched in front of him and his entire body was quaking ominously. The boy felt a familiar tingle travel from within him and move outside of his body. A peculiar expression flashed over his face. Harry Potter no longer resembled a small and non-threatening, twelve-year-old boy. Harry Potter looked possessed.

The lights in the chandelier exploded above them, and the fattest woman, Marge Dursley, let out a startled shriek and dropped her glass, sending shards of the crystal cup and dark liquid scattering all over the snow-white carpet. The screech faded out into silence, and the whole room grew tense and still. The family felt a sinister energy invading the room and goosebumps sprouted on their arms. Dudley Dursley let out a whimper, which caused his mother to reach for him, and she pulled the stout boy into her embrace, glancing around with fear in her narrowed eyes. Vernon stood up from the table, scanning the room, his pudgy face scrunched in consternation. He placed a worried hand on his wife’s shoulder, and they shared an uneasy glance. The temperature of the room seemed to drop thirty degrees in an instant. Then, one by one, the glasses on the table shattered and all hell broke loose.

All around the room, plates exploded with a crash, pictures on the walls hurled themselves across the room where they smashed and fell to the floor. The doors opened widely and then slammed themselves shut. Vernon dove underneath the safety of the kitchen counter, covering his face with his hands to protect his eyes from the flying shards. Petunia and a screaming Dudley cowered beside him, taking shelter from the chaos.

Marge Dursley sat frozen in her chair, staring open-mouthed at the scene in front of her. She watched as the photograph that she had been discussing slowly rose into the air. The smiling face of the young child seemed to stare directly into her soul as it inched closer and closer to her. The picture drew nearer, and she leaned further and further back in her chair until she toppled out of it with a thud and scurried underneath the table. Her eyes, wide as saucers, peered around the room until she caught the gaze of the young, black-haired boy. His eyes were glowing inhumanly, and he glowered at her just before the table she was huddled beneath lifted into the air and slammed into the ceiling, splintering and sending wooden fragments flying in every direction. The pieces rained down on her, but she didn’t take her eyes away from Harry’s.

He stared into her fearful eyes, feeling no sympathy. She deserves this, he thought and sent a harsh smirk in her direction. He was filled with satisfaction at the terror that he saw on the faces of his family, especially Marge. But then, the light in Marge’s grey eyes faded and she fell, face first, onto the hardwood floor.

Everything fell still, and the room grew silent. After a moment, Vernon caught a glimpse of his sister, from his hiding place, and deciding that it was finally safe, he crawled over to where she had fallen. Harry watched, wide-eyed as Vernon gently prodded his sister. When the chubby woman made no movement, the blood in Harry’s veins turned to ice.

“She’s dead,” Vernon spoke softly. He looked around the room as if searching for something. Then he locked eyes with Harry. “SHE’S DEAD!” He bellowed, this time screaming. “YOU KILLED HER, YOU UNGRATEFUL SON OF A BITCH!”

Vernon jumped to his feet and advanced on Harry. The young wizard tried to move, but it was as if his brain no longer worked. His limbs were filled with sand; his feet were nailed to the floor. His vision blurred. _Dead? No. She can’t be dead. I didn’t… Did I?_ Then his mind went blank and he started hyperventilating. He was a murderer. He had killed his Aunt Marge. He had hated the woman, but he hadn’t meant for that to happen. Thoughts were racing through his head and he couldn’t breathe. How was he going to get out of this? Would Dumbledore find out? Would his friends? Would the Ministry? Would he go to prison?

Harry thought too much about the future, and he hadn’t realized exactly how serious the current situation was until his uncle was towering over him, with fury in his eyes. He had never seen so much rage and hatred on anyone’s face before. It was all too much. His ears were ringing, and he saw Vernon roaring at him, but he didn’t hear any of the words that tumbled from the man’s mouth. Harry could imagine what he was saying though. He knew he was in serious trouble. He had killed her. Marge was dead, and it was his fault. As the giant man advanced on him with his pudgy fist held out in front of him, eyes blazing, Harry realized he only had one, real option: he had to run; So, he did.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry twisted away from his menacing uncle and dove toward the patio door. He reached out for the handle, just as a thick, meaty fist struck out and made contact with the back of his head. Harry let out a grunt and felt himself flying forward. He threw his arms out desperately, hoping to clasp onto something that would allow him to remain upright. As he tumbled downward, his cheek scraped against the wall, ripping the skin and leaving a burning gash down the side of his face. He found himself sprawled across the hallway floor, facedown. He turned himself over and stood up quickly, ignoring the pain and intending to escape again, but Vernon was quicker. He towered over him, still roaring with rage, and pinned him against the wall. The man’s large fists wrapped around Harry’s scrawny neck and squeezed viciously.

He felt the rough hands digging into his flesh, and choked for air, but he couldn’t breathe. His eyes widened in panic and he wrapped his arms over the man’s, trying to pry them off. Vernon was still yelling at him, and Harry finally heard what he was saying.

“I’LL KILL YOU, YOU FREAK!” His booming voice echoed in the small hallway, as the man attempted to squeeze the life out of his nephew. Harry twisted and turned, desperate to find a way out of Vernon’s grip. He could feel the man’s hot breath on his neck and he shuddered. Dark spots danced in his vision. He could feel the bruises forming around his throat and he let out a squeak of pain. He continued to struggle, digging his grimy fingernails into the man’s hands and causing small droplets of blood to appear, but he made no progress in escaping. He knew he couldn’t fight for much longer, and for a moment, he wondered if maybe it would be okay if he just gave up. He knew he would die, but he had killed Marge. Maybe I deserve this… He thought about his parents and wondered if he would get to see them again when it was all over.

Harry looked straight into Vernon’s narrowed eyes. He stared at the man who was supposed to be like a father to him. The man that was supposed to love him and care for him. This portly man had never done anything for him. Harry watched as glimpses of his life flashed in front of his blackened vision: Vernon throwing Harry into his cupboard and locking him in for days, Vernon screaming at Harry for something Dudley had done, Vernon beating Harry with his belt and leaving deep gashes across his back.

Harry couldn’t let Vernon be the one to kill him. He couldn’t give him the satisfaction. With his last remaining energy, he flailed his limbs wildly, swinging his bony knee upward where it made contact with his uncle’s groin. He heard a gasp from the man and felt the hands around his throat release. He stumbled for a moment, violently coughing and attempting to get air back into his lungs, before he dashed down the hallway on shaky legs. 

The boy turned the corner and darted past his cupboard, toward the front door. He could hear the grumbling of the man and his stomping footsteps getting closer, and he knew his uncle was still close behind him. He reached for the knob and hesitated, noticing the stairs behind him.

Everything that he owned in the world was still in the house. He knew he could never reach his belongings in the locked cupboard, but his most prized possessions were stored up in his room, hidden under a loose floorboard. His options rushed through his mind. He could simply leave and run out the front door and down the street; he doubted that his uncle would chase him that far. Or he could take the chance and go upstairs to grab his things. He knew that if Vernon caught him again, there would be no escape. Deciding that his few possessions were much too valuable to leave behind, Harry turned from the door and darted up the staircase, seeing his uncle barreling toward him.

Harry was much lighter and quicker than the man, and for that, he was grateful. He was nearly halfway up the stairs to the second floor, before he felt wind on the back of his neck. He heard a grunt and turned his head to see Vernon lunge for him. Harry leapt up two more steps, just barely leaving him just out of Vernon’s reach. He let out a quick breath of relief, and then scurried up the last few steps. 

When he reached the second floor, his eyes darted around the house wildly, looking for the best way to escape. Vernon was too close. He couldn’t make it into his room without the man trapping him. He knew that Vernon would corner him inside and kill him if he was given the chance. Dudley’s room was directly to the right, but he had no chance of escaping through there either. Suddenly, he got an idea. With his uncle nearly on his heels, he veered left and entered the first door. He knew what he had to do.

He looked around his Aunt and Uncle’s room, taking in the plush cream carpet and the lavishly decorated King-sized bed. He rolled gracefully over the mattress and dropped onto his knees on the other side and then plunged his hand beneath the bed. His fingers brushed against a cool, metal object and he gripped it tightly in his hands, just as the giant man appeared in the doorway.

Vernon stopped in the entryway of his and Petunia’s room, seething. He could see his nephew ducked beneath the side of the bed and he grinned maliciously. He knew that the boy had no chance; he was trapped. Vernon stomped closer and moved to stand over his nephew. He was going to kill him. But just as he went to grab him, the boy stood up and turned to face his uncle. Vernon gasped. Harry Potter was facing him, and a gun was pointed directly at his face.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry Potter had never held a gun before, and the object felt large and foreign in his hands, but he kept his arms steady. He didn’t know much about guns. All his information on firearms had come from seeing some of Dudley’s violent videos through the slats in his cupboard’s door. He was not confident in his aim, nor his technique, but he knew that the safety was off, and if he pulled the trigger it could be fatal. He positioned the gun at Vernon’s head. He refused to let his uncle win this time.

“D-don’t move,” Harry said to Vernon, his voice shaking.

Though Vernon had initially been shocked by the boy’s tactics, after hearing the trembling voice of the twelve-year-old, he no longer felt threatened.

“What are you gonna do, boy, shoot me?” Vernon taunted. His eyes lit up, and his pudgy face once again morphed into a murderous expression. 

Harry’s eyes narrowed at his Uncle’s words. He was the one with the power. He had just destroyed half of the house and killed Marge, yet his uncle doubted him. He didn’t want to shoot his uncle or injure anyone, but if he had to take action, he would.

“If you move, I will pull the trigger,” Harry replied slowly. “The bullet will strike you square in the face, and you will die. Marge is dead, do you want to join her?” Harry said all of this calmly, the tremor gone from his voice.

Vernon didn’t say a word, but it was clear that he believed what Harry had said. The light left his eyes, and he raised his hands in submission. Harry turned his head and gestured for him to move against the wall and Vernon obeyed.

“I’m going to grab my things and leave. I won’t come back.” Harry told Vernon. “If anyone gets in my way, I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger.” Leaving Vernon against the wall, Harry left his aunt and uncle’s bedroom with the gun and headed toward his own.

Once inside his pitiful room, Harry let out the breath that he had been holding in, and he felt tears stinging in his eyes. He was relieved that Vernon had listened to him, he was already struggling with the fact that he had killed Marge. He hated Vernon Dursley with every bone in his body. Vernon was a hateful, selfish man, with no regard for others, but Vernon had never killed anyone. Harry had. He was a murderer. Harry had killed a living, breathing human being. He hated Vernon, but now he hated himself even more.

He gathered what was hidden beneath the floorboard: his wand, his invisibility cloak, a handful of galleons, and the photo album from Hagrid. Then he grabbed a small bag, tossed in some of his clothing, and took one last look around “his” room. He saw the bars on the windows. He saw Hedwig’s empty owl cage. He saw the plain, grimy mattress. He saw the blood stains on the wooden floor... He was never coming back. He slung the bag over his shoulder, stuck the gun out in front of him, and slammed the door. 

No one stepped out to threaten him in the hallway. He didn’t see Vernon, or Petunia, or Dudley. He just walked down the stairs cautiously, waiting for one of them to jump out and attack him. No one did. Before he knew it, he was at the front door. He threw it open and stepped outside. He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t know how he was going to survive. He didn’t even know if he wanted to survive. He just threw his invisibility cloak over himself and walked down the empty street into the night, without looking back.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry moved unseen through the night, shielded by his cloak of invisibility, but he was constantly peering over his shoulder. The street appeared to be empty, but anyone could be after him now. The ministry could have noticed his burst of accidental magic, or the muggles may have been contacted by the Dursleys to hunt him down. Harry felt completely alone. 

He had not walked far, but he was exhausted. The events of that night were beginning to take a toll on the young wizard. His throat was burning, and his right ankle was swelling. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to cover much ground tonight. He took a left turn and found himself at the public park he often walked to. Harry had visited the park many times during the day, often enjoying the comfort of being surrounded by people who didn’t know him at all. He liked to watch the other carefree children running and enjoying themselves in the sunshine and imagine what it would be like to be one of them. Though it seemed like a cheerful place during the day, at night, the vacant playground seemed menacing and eerie. Moonlight shown through the thin tree branches, casting shadows that shimmied and swayed across the lawn. A light breeze caused the swings to shudder, and Harry surveyed them for several minutes to make sure that he was actually alone.

His invisibility cloak, though great for concealing himself, was not impervious to the cold, and Harry began to shiver. Deciding that he was just being paranoid about being watched, Harry limped up the steps to the top of the jungle gym and curled up in a horizontal tube slide. The night was chilly, and inside he was shielded from the wind. He shut his eyes and attempted to sleep, knowing that he had a lot of work to do in the morning. 

Though he tried to get some rest, Harry did not sleep that night. When he was surrounded by darkness, he was bombarded with images of a lifeless Marge Dursley. He saw glimpses of her last breath. He envisioned the look on her face when her heart stopped. He remembered the look of her cold, dead eyes. Harry started shaking again, but this time it wasn’t because of the cold.

Harry saw the sun rise, the next morning. Because he had not slept at all the previous night, he was extremely fatigued, and his body was sore. Disregarding his physical state, Harry slithered out of his shelter and hoisted himself to his feet. He had not yet examined his injuries, but from the extreme throbbing in his ankle, the stinging of his scrapes, and the tenderness of his neck, he guessed that he must look pretty bad. He adjusted the position of his cloak, making sure that he was completely covered. He knew that soon people would be leaving their homes and starting their days, and he didn’t want to be noticed by anyone.

Harry limped down the street slowly and formulated a plan. He was looking for a way to get to Diagon Alley. If he could find a way to get to his vault at Gringotts, maybe he could withdraw enough gold to survive on the run in the muggle world. He wasn’t sure if he would be safe there, but he assumed that being in the wizarding world would be less dangerous than remaining in Surrey. He was wracking his brain to come up with a way that he could integrate himself back into wizarding society without being recognized. He knew that he could be easily discovered under his cloak if he were to run into someone on the crowded streets in Diagon Alley and using a charm to change his appearance could be detected with simple spells; he needed something more permanent. 

As Harry considered his options he spotted a grey pickup truck stopped ahead of him, on the side of the street. He could see a man walking toward it, probably heading into work. If Harry could hop into the back before the man took off, he could travel a lot quicker than he could on foot. Ignoring the protest made by his ankle, Harry jogged toward the vehicle. He heard the growl of the engine and knew he had only moments to get himself inside the truck bed. He made it to the edge of the pickup just in time and carefully climbed into the back. He wasn’t sure if he had made the right decision, but there was nothing he could do about it now. Harry sat motionless as the truck sped down the road and headed for an unknown destination, leaving a trail of dust in its path.


	5. Chapter 5

As the pickup truck bustled down the bumpy road, Harry was thrown against the various tools that were scattered beside him. He was dismayed to discover that the truck’s owner was not a very safe driver. Each turn of the vehicle sent him toppling sideways, and he could feel new bruises springing up on various parts of his body. They went around numerous curves and came to several abrupt stops, and Harry did his best to remain stationary. After banging his shoulder against the sharp corner of a spade, he gasped as he felt a trickle of blood making its way down his arm. The wound bled freely for several minutes, and Harry wondered if he would need stitches. He mentally added bandages to the list of things he would need to find. About half an hour later, the truck finally made one last speedy turn before stopping in front of a shabby-looking, brick building. 

Harry watched as the man shut off the engine, exited his pickup, and made his way into the building. Relieved to finally be at a standstill, he exhaled and stood up on shaky legs. Then he carefully swung his legs over the back of the truck and hopped to the ground. The young wizard took in his surroundings. He seemed to be in a dilapidated, small town, and he noticed several faded signs for restaurants and a gas station just up the road. 

Just seeing the signs for food made his stomach growl, and he tried to remember the last time he had eaten a decent meal. The transition from Hogwarts’s meals to the Dursley’s was agonizing as usual. The Dursley’s had been even stricter about distributing food this summer, and Harry had lost a significant amount of weight. They had regularly been giving him a slice of bread and occasionally a bit of their leftovers if he had finished all his chores, though it was common for Vernon to make up excuses to deprive him of his meager servings. As he was just skin and bones again, Dudley’s old clothes seemed to swallow him even more than usual. Underneath the invisibility cloak he adjusted the neck of his oversized shirt, that had fallen and allowed his sleeve to cover the middle of his injured arm which was now stained with blood. He desperately wanted to enter one of the cafes, but he knew they wouldn’t accept his galleons. If only he had thought to steal some money from his Aunt and Uncle before he had left their house.

Harry decided to approach the closest restaurant anyway, hoping that he could swipe some food from the other customers plates while they weren’t paying attention, or even grab leftovers from the garbage bins. It wouldn’t be the first time he had eaten food out of the trash. He made his way down the sidewalk, his limp more pronounced than it had been yesterday, and then waited at the entrance. After a few minutes, a woman entered the building, and he slipped in through the door before it closed. Once inside, the mouthwatering aroma reached his nose and he breathed in deeply. He detected the scent of freshly made chicken and steamed vegetables. Harry noticed that it seemed to be a homestyle, family restaurant. At a booth near the door he saw a young couple that were just paying their bill and leaving a tip on the table. One of their plates still held a few fries and half of a roll. Harry moved swiftly to the booth, eager to snatch the food before a waiter could come to clear the table. 

He was just reaching out to grab a handful, when he noticed a woman, sitting at a booth across from him, looking over at where he now stood. She was an older lady, with snow white hair and deep wrinkles etched into her pale skin. He couldn’t take any without her noticing. Harry stood motionless, waiting for her to turn away. Before he had a chance to seize any of the leftovers, a young waiter rushed over and grabbed the plates and glasses. Harry frowned. He really needed to eat something soon. 

He didn’t want to wait for another opportunity. That food would be his. As the waiter turned to head back to the kitchen, Harry stuck out his invisible foot. The waiter tripped and crashed to the floor, and the dishes scattered. One of the cups shattered, spreading bits of glass and sticky liquid across the checkered tile. The clatter made all eyes in the restaurant turn to the source of the noise, and the waiter stood up quickly, his face beet red. Harry couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath; the sight was pretty amusing. Well, that may have been a bit extreme, but it was necessary, Harry thought. The young man that he had tripped scurried off to the kitchens to grab a mop and the customers averted their eyes to reduce his embarrassment. Harry chose that time to strike. He kneeled down and scooped up the partially eaten roll and then managed to pluck three fries from the wreckage. By the time the worker had returned to clean the mess, Harry had already darted back to wait near the door. He scarfed down what he had gathered and then waited patiently for another person to exit the building and snuck back outside.

The young wizard limped down the street, looking for a place that might sell the items he was searching for. He needed some medical equipment to bandage his injuries and wrap up his throbbing ankle, and he was searching for anything to change his appearance enough that he wouldn’t be recognized. About two miles down the road, Harry saw a general store and made his way inside. He moved down the aisles cautiously, making sure not to bump into any customers or to cause any suspicion. He plucked items off the shelves and tossed them into his bag. He didn’t condone stealing, but in his current predicament, he didn’t see any alternatives. When he had gathered everything that he thought he would need, he walked into the men’s restroom and peered inside. The bathroom was empty, so Harry shut the door and turned the lock. 

Harry strode over in front of the full-length mirror and removed his invisibility cloak. It was the first time he had seen his appearance since he’d left the Dursleys. The first thing he noticed was the scrape on his cheek. A large portion of his skin on the side of his face seemed to have been rubbed off, leaving an angry red patch that was speckled with spots of dried blood. Wanting to see all the damage caused by the previous day, he removed his shirt as well. Now he could see everything. 

He observed his appearance closely, and he didn’t like what he saw. He was scrawny and disheveled looking. The bones in his face protruded outward, making him look deathly ill. His long black hair was grimy and stuck out in every direction. His eyes were bloodshot and wild looking, as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. Multiple scratches and dark purple bruises splattered his body, contrasting dramatically with his pale skin. The most noticeable bruising was around his neck, where he’d nearly been strangled. He spotted the gash on his arm from this morning. It looked pretty deep, and his whole arm was stained with dried blood. The smell of the coppery substance was beginning to make him squeamish. His eyes traveled downward to his sunken stomach, and he could see each rib poking out from beneath his skin. Lastly, he saw his ankle. It had now swollen to almost three times its normal size, and it reminded him of his cousin Dudley’s pudgy legs. Overall, he did not look well. 

After giving another glance at himself, he decided that it was time to tend to his injuries. He pulled the items he had grabbed from the shelves and placed them out in front of him, on the counter. He had a new washcloth, which he used to gently clean his scrapes and to wipe the dried blood off his skin. Then he selected some antibiotic cream and spread it over his wounds. He took some gauze from the counter and wrapped up the deep cut on his arm. It had stopped bleeding for now, but if he bumped it he knew that it might open again. He wasn’t sure what to do for his swollen ankle. He took an ice pack and held it over the injury. It was very tender, but Harry took the gauze and wrapped it up. It was by no means professional looking, but it would do for now.

Now, he just had to work on his physical appearance. Harry had never cut his own hair before, but he had seen Aunt Petunia cut Dudley’s several times. He tentatively took the scissors and began chopping. It turned out slightly uneven, but not distractingly so, and Harry was quite impressed with himself. Next, he picked up a small box from the counter and opened it up. Inside was a small kit, some gloves, and a pamphlet of instructions. He read through them and began to follow each step. Dying his hair was a lot less complicated than he had thought it might be. When he had completed the process, Harry rinsed off his hair in the sink and then dried it with a towel. It wasn’t quite as light as he wanted it, but he supposed it would do. He needed to cover his lightning scar, so he took some concealer and smudged it over top. The makeup felt odd on his face, but he could no longer see his famous mark. 

The final item that he had selected for himself was a pair of color change contacts. He had always been fond of his green eyes. Everyone always told him he’d inherited his mother’s eyes, and he was hesitant to change them, but he knew it must be done. Struggling a bit, he inserted the contacts into his eyes. Then he looked in the mirror.

Staring back at him was a boy, with his facial structure, that had deep brown eyes and short, brown hair. This boy wasn’t a freak. This boy wasn’t a pathetic waste of space. This boy wasn’t a murderer. He smiled at his reflection. He didn’t look like Harry Potter anymore.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry Potter left the general store with a whole new appearance. He was no longer dressed in rags that engulfed him. Instead he wore a semi-fitted black hoodie with a sports team logo and a pair of denim jeans. It had been many years since Harry had gotten new clothes that fit him, and he felt much more comfortable in them. He had also replaced his old, worn-out sneakers with some red and grey slip on shoes that wouldn’t rub his swollen ankle. He didn’t even need his invisibility cloak anymore. No one would recognize him now, unless they looked very closely. He folded it neatly and stuffed it inside his bag. Then he tossed his old castoffs into a rubbish bin outside the store and trotted away, feeling happy for the first time in a long time.

He knew that he needed to find his way to London in order to get to Diagon Alley, so Harry waited patiently on a bench beside the bus stop. He hadn’t been waiting long, when his eyelids started drooping, and he had to fight to stay awake. He let out a large yawn and sat up straighter, just as a dark grey shuttle bus pulled up in front of him. A few people trudged up the steps ahead of him, and Harry trailed after them, watching as they pulled out golden cards and presented them to the driver. Harry hung his head down disappointedly, he hadn’t even thought about how he planned to pay for the ride. The driver was a middle-aged man with wispy gray hair that smelled strongly of smoke. Harry was at the front of the line, right in front of him, and the man looked at him expectantly. 

“Do you have a bus pass, son?” He asked softly in a thick Irish accent. When Harry shook his head, the man sighed. “Where are ya headed?” He said and smiled kindly at Harry, probably wondering why he was all alone. 

“London, sir,” Harry replied, not meeting his gaze.

“Do ya have any money?”

“No, sir.”

“Well I’m sorry, but I can’t let you ride for free. It wouldn’t be fair to the other customers.” The man gave Harry another glance, noticing the scrapes on his face, his slumped shoulders, and his dejected expression.

Harry stared at the floor feeling ashamed and was about to turn away and head back down the steps, when the man spoke again.

“Sit down here,” he said, gesturing toward the seat directly behind his.

“Are you sure? I can’t pay.”

“It’s alright. I’ll pay for your ride this time, as long as you sit up here by me and make conversation.” He said cheerfully. “Most folks go and sit near the back, and it gets pretty lonely up here.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.” Harry responded genuinely. He had not met many kind people in his life and he was in awe at what the man had offered to do for him.

“No problem,” the old man retorted.

So, Harry sat at the front of the bus and chatted with the kind man the whole way to London. He listened to the man talk about his life and his children. When asked about himself, Harry fashioned a fake backstory, creating a fake name and telling tales of a life that he had never lived. The more he talked about this imaginary person, the more he wished that was who he really was.

When the bus stopped in London, Harry grabbed his things and left down the stairs, thanking the driver again for the ride. It was just starting to get dark now, and he could see the last traces of sunlight disappearing in the distance. He was having trouble remembering directions to the Leaky Cauldron, but he didn’t think it was far from the station. When he had first visited with Hagrid two years ago, he hadn’t paid much attention on how they had arrived at the pub. He remembered the name of the street it was on though, and he looked around for a non-threatening adult that might be able to give him directions. 

“Excuse me, Ma’am.” he said to a tall blonde woman that was holding the hand of a sleepy looking toddler. When she turned to face him, Harry continued. “Do you know where Charing Cross road is?”

The woman looked at him for a moment. “Charing Cross road?” She asked him, and he nodded. “It’s just down that street there,” she gestured to a road on the right, “and then head down Arbor road until you reach the intersection.”

Harry nodded at her, mentally repeating the information to himself. “Thanks,” he told her and then turned away, heading in the direction she had told him. When he reached the intersection that the woman had mentioned, he was able to see the Leaky Cauldron in the distance. 

He entered the pub and was delighted to find that it was packed. Even through the darkness, Harry could see the outlines of numerous people chatting and drinking. No one would be paying attention to him, with so much noise and people huddled around. The strong smell of smoke assaulted his nostrils and he stifled a cough. After travelling for so long down the empty streets in silence, the sound of so many people talking at once along with the stench was starting to overwhelm him. Harry slipped unnoticed to the back of the shop. He approached the brick wall and slid his wand out of his pocket. Carefully counting to find the right one, He gently touched his wand to the brick and watched as the wall shriveled away. 

There were very few people traveling around Diagon Alley at night, but the ones that Harry passed did not spare him a second glance. One of the most famous wizards in the world was walking among them, and no one even noticed. Harry saw Gringotts in the distance and headed for the entrance, feeling extremely pleased. Only the goblins would know his true identity, and even if he were in trouble with the ministry for killing Marge and using magic, the goblins would not meddle in wizard affairs.

Harry walked straight into Gringotts and up to the counter. The goblin at the desk was not at all fazed by his new appearance. The strange being did not even look up from his paperwork before speaking. “Would you like to see your vault, Mr. Potter?” The goblin asked in a nasally voice. When Harry nodded, he calmly turned away and took him to collect his money. Harry looked again at the truly amazing amount of gold that belonged to him. He would trade it all to travel back two days ago.

Once he had shoved as much gold into his pouch as he could carry, they left his vault and Harry requested that the goblin transfer almost all his galleons to muggle currency. The goblin looked at him quizzically when he said this but did as he asked. He left Gringotts with enough muggle money to buy a new car.

Harry limped slowly across the cobblestone streets in the dark. He supposed that it was nearly eight-o-clock now, and many of the stores in Diagon Alley had already closed. He had hoped to find something that could fix his injuries permanently, but he figured he’d have to wait until morning to look. He was heading back to the leaky cauldron to get a room for the night, when a little shop further down the street caught his eye. He had never noticed this store before. It was small and dingy looking, and the brightly colored shops that surrounded it made it easy to overlook. It appeared more like a rundown shack than a real business, but APOTHECARY was scrawled clumsily on the side of the building in capital letters. The lights were on inside and he could still see the open sign plastered on the front door, so he moved toward it.

A tinkling of bells sounded when Harry pushed open the heavy wooden door. Once inside he could see an array of shelves, the ones near the door harbored multiple potions in a variety of sizes and colors and the ones on the opposite wall held potion ingredients. He saw one labeled wart-generator and grimaced. The shop seemed larger on the inside than it had seemed when he had stood outside, and it contained several different rooms. Harry didn’t see a single person around. Thinking that he was alone, he browsed the potions on the shelf with curiosity, looking for one that might ease his pain and get rid of his injuries. The young wizard made his way around the shop feeling relaxed, while the tall, hook-nosed figure in the opposite corner of the room watched him with interest.


	7. Chapter 7

Severus Snape was curious. He had been in the apothecary to refill the stocks for his potions cupboard at Hogwarts before the start of term, when out of nowhere, a young boy had come into the store. The apothecary was not a popular shop, and at nearly 9 PM on a Saturday there should have been no inhabitants other than himself and Mr. Nelson, the store owner. This boy proceeded to walk, or more accurately limp, around and seemed to be looking for a specific potion.

From his position at the corner of the room, he could clearly see the boy. Severus saw that he was quite young, probably around ten or eleven, and he was dressed in muggle attire. He peered out the window and saw no one waiting on the child. He didn’t appear to be travelling with anyone, which was odd for someone so young. The boy continued perusing the shelves, and he reached out to grab a glass vial. Judging from the size, color, and shape of the container, Severus guessed that it was a strong pain reliever.

Looking closer at his appearance the potions master saw that he had fresh bruises peeking their way out of the top of his sweatshirt. The boy was thin and barely more than a skeleton; when he reached to grab a second container off the shelf, his sleeve fell back to his elbows, exposing his tiny wrists. Severus even found himself sneering at the boy’s unkempt and uneven hair. _Did the child cut it himself?_ He saw the pronounced limp when he walked and the way he shied away from using his right arm. He was obviously injured.

Being a spy had given him a good eye for detecting when something was amiss. Something was off about this boy, and Severus was determined to find out what he was hiding.

* * *

It took him awhile, but Harry had finally found what he was looking for. After searching through vials of foul concoctions for nearly ten minutes, he had acquired some pain relief potions, a bruise salve, a serum to mend bones and muscles, and a dreamless sleep potion. With all the different containers scooped haphazardly into his arms, Harry set off unsteadily to find the owner. Carrying so many items proved to be a challenge, as the pile slightly impeded his vision. He tottered toward the back of the store and would have made it to the counter to pay for his items, if he hadn’t caught his foot on a stray box of pepper up potions. As soon as his swollen ankle collided with the object, he sucked in a breath and found himself falling to the floor. He heard a crash as the glass vials shattered around him. He tried to get back on his feet, but when he used his hands to lift himself up, tiny shards wedged their way deep into his palms.

Suddenly, Harry wasn’t in the shabby potion shop, he was back at the Dursleys. He could hear Uncle Vernon’s blaring voice and Aunt Petunia’s screeching. “FREAK!” they would roar at him. He could see his overweight uncle moving toward him with a chilling smirk on his face. He could hear the sound of a belt cracking down on his flesh. He could smell the coppery blood that poured out of his wounds and dribbled onto the dirty floor. He was back in his cupboard, lying face down in the pitch dark, with spiders tickling the skin on his injured back. Finally, he saw the cold dead eyes of Marge Dursley, as if she was staring into his soul. His eyes snapped open and darted around wildly. He had to get out of here. He could hear footsteps behind him, and thought he saw the shadow of a man creeping closer. His breathing hitched.

The potions that were stored in plastic jugs were still intact and he scooped them up quickly, throwing them into the bag. He needed to get out of here before anyone could catch him. He turned around and collided with a dark-robed figure who let out an aggravated “Hmmph” as the breath was knocked out of him. Harry looked up at the man. His dark brown eyes widened with shock when he found himself staring straight into the obsidian orbs of Severus Snape. Without a second glance, Harry sidestepped the man and shot out of the store. He was running faster than he thought possible on his injured ankle, but he ignored the sharp pains that it was causing him. He could hear heavy footfalls behind him and supposed that his professor was following him. In the pitch darkness, it was hard to see where he was headed, but he noticed an unfamiliar street to the left and fled down it.

* * *

 Severus had been silently observing the boy for about twenty minutes, when he stopped perusing the shelves and attempted to carry an armload of potions to the back room of the shop. He was about to step in and scold the insolent child, before he made a mess, when the boy tripped over a box and fell to the floor. Mr. Nelson had never kept the shop particularly clean, but Severus knew that the elderly man would not take kindly to the sticky mixture of potions and glass that now covered his floor. Severus was unsure of whether to clean the mess with a flick of his wand, or let the boy face the wrath of the shop owner. He was debating, when the child started having some sort of fit.

The boy was still on the ground, but his shoulders were hunched, and he was letting out short bursts of breath, like he was hyperventilating. Severus watched silently, and then deciding he better assist, took a step toward him. The boy apparently heard him, because he started frantically shoving bottles into the ratty gray sack on his shoulder. Then he got to his feet and plowed right into Severus.

Severus looked down at the youth’s face, anger flaring up inside him. He took in the sharp features, the high cheekbones, the almond shaped eyes. There was something familiar about that face. The boy’s dark brown eyes seemed to widen with recognition, as if he knew the greasy dungeon bat. Then he darted away like a cornered animal about to be captured. Severus didn’t like the look on the boy’s face. It was as if he had known him, though Severus had no recollection of meeting the child before. Without stopping to think, the potions master charged into the night after the mysterious boy, with the edges of his ebony robe flaring out behind him. He followed him down the cobblestone streets, and then paused for a moment when the boy started running directly into Knockturn Alley.

* * *

 Harry was out of breath, but he couldn’t stop. He had to keep running. He had to stay away from Snape. If Snape found out who he really was and what had happened, it would all be over. He inspected his surroundings. He couldn’t see any familiar shops and realized that he was now completely lost. He made a quick turn behind a dark, decrepit building that looked like it could topple over at any minute. Behind the building was a mound of loose bricks, old furniture, and trash. He saw a broken bookcase propped up at an angle against the building and crouched down behind it. Then he pulled out his invisibility cloak and draped it over himself. He saw Snape peer behind the building a minute later. The man used the tip of his lit wand to scan the area, then he cursed under his breath and rushed back in the other direction.

He was finally safe. He rummaged in his bag and took out the potions that he had managed to salvage from the shop. The pain medicine and the potion to mend his ankle had broken when he’d dropped them earlier, but he still had the bruise salve and the dreamless sleep. He picked up the cream and gently rubbed it over the dark handprints around his neck. Then he unscrewed the cap on the dreamless sleep potion and swallowed a bit. He rested his head on his knees and closed his eyes…

The next thing Harry knew, he was being roughly jostled awake. He opened his eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry felt groggy and disoriented. His vision was blurry, and he had to blink a few times before he could clearly see the figure that was hunched down in front of him. The unfamiliar person was squatting down, his hands still resting on Harry’s shoulders from where he’d shaken him awake, and he leaned in closer. When Harry saw the man’s face, illuminated by wand-light, he shuffled back against the wall, and his eyes went wide. A delirious looking man, that Harry had never seen before, was inches away from his face and breathing heavily. He smelled strongly of booze, and his eyes appeared to be bloodshot. Even in the darkness, Harry could tell that this man was a threat. Then the man started to speak.

“I was just walkin along and I saw a foot. I saw a little foot jus stickin out of thin air…. And I thought well that’s odd. And then I pulled off yer cloak there and yer just layin there, all peaceful.” The man whispered in a raspy voice to Harry, speaking fast and stumbling over his words. He fingered the invisibility cloak, watching as his hand disappeared beneath it, in awe. “Just a wee little boy… Just hiding out under a cloak in the middle of… of the night. What were ya hiding from, little boy?” He babbled incoherently with a dribble of drool running from his chin.

Harry didn’t know how to respond or if he should even reply to the stranger. The man was obviously not well. The bloke stopped talking and just stared at Harry. Everything was silent except for the man’s heavy breathing, which was leaving a warm, damp spot on Harry’s forehead, and the fast pounding of Harry’s heart.

“Not safe for a wee little boy like ya to be wonderin around Knockturn at night, ya know….” The man trailed off. Then his face broke into a wide, menacing grin that showed his yellowed, misshaped teeth. “Ya never know who ya might find. A lotta dangerous people out here that would love to find such a nice boy.”

Harry didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t run. His back was against the wall and the man was blocking the only way to escape. He could scream for help, but it was the middle of the night, and he doubted that Knockturn Alley would house anyone willing to defend him. The man’s gnarled hand reached out and stroked Harry’s face gently, leaving grime across his cheek.

“Such a… Such a nice little boy.” He whispered, reveling in the distress on Harry’s face. Harry made a move to reach into his bag for his wand, but the man’s hand shot out and gripped his wrist hard. “Watcha doin that for?” he admonished in a darker tone. Harry tried to twist away, but the grip on his wrist tightened. “Maybe yer not so nice after all,” he cooed and reached for Harry’s bag. He rummaged through it with his free hand and pulled Harry’s wand out, then he tossed the bag to the side. “Were ya looking fer this?” He said softly and shook his head. “Now why would ya need yer wand? We’re just having a nice chat, you and I…. I don’t want any trouble. Do you want trouble, little boy?” As each word was spoken the man’s face became more and more twisted. He was a monster out of a child’s worst nightmare, with his gruff voice and his soothing touch. He leaned in even closer until his cracked lips were touching Harry’s ear. “Ya wanna know what happens to bad little boys?” He crooned.

Harry let out an involuntary whimper and tried to move away, but the man pulled him closer. Harry felt the long, slimy tongue of the man trail down his face. He knew what would happen next, but he didn’t know how to stop it. He was wrapped tightly in the arms of the man, who stared down at him hungrily. Harry couldn’t pull away, so instead, he launched himself at the man. The intoxicated pervert fell back onto the pavement, dragging Harry down with him. He was laughing madly now, as if he were clinically insane.

“LET GO OF ME!” Harry screamed like a banshee, but the man only held him tighter and laughed even harder. He flipped Harry onto his back and straddled him.

“Oh no… I could never let go of ya… Ya want me to let go? No, that’s absurd…” He said in a high-pitched sing-song voice. Harry kicked and clawed at the man. Harry screamed. Harry fought. Harry did everything he could, but he couldn’t get away. Harry laid still.

The man didn’t look as pleased, when Harry stopped fighting. He wanted him to struggle. Harry stayed limp. So many things were happening around him, and Harry couldn’t let himself think. He was drifting away, deep into his mind, when his outstretched palm brushed against something solid and cold on the ground. Without moving enough to distract the stranger on top of him, Harry felt the object. He felt the grooves on the sides. He felt the shape. He felt the trigger. Then Harry gripped the gun, turned it so it faced the man, and fired.

A sharp boom, louder than anything Harry had ever heard, rang out, and the pistol slipped from Harry’s hand. He felt the weight on top off him go still and slithered out from underneath it. Harry crawled over and picked up the mans’ wand. It was still lit, and Harry could see the outline of a body on the ground. Crimson liquid was pooling around his head. Harry saw that the same substance was on his own hands. It was all over his hands. It was everywhere. _What is it? Why won’t it go away?_ Harry wiped his hands on his bare torso and noticed that the red covered him too. It was everywhere. He had to get it off. He had to get away. Harry had to pick up his things. His whole body was shaking, but he grabbed his invisibility cloak, his wand, his torn hoodie, and the contents of his spilled bag. Then he turned and made himself look down. He stared down at the lifeless body for several minutes, feeling just as dead inside. Then he threw the invisibility cloak over top of him, making sure that neither of his feet stuck out from under it, and trudged down the unfamiliar road in the darkness.

* * *

 Severus Snape was just heading back toward Diagon Alley from searching for the mysterious little potion thief when he heard a gunshot. In the deafening silence of the night, the sound was magnified, and it echoed through the streets. Severus immediately turned toward the source of the noise and ran.

It took him nearly ten minutes to find the source of the sound. He had just turned behind the closed antique shop that used to sell dark and cursed objects, when he saw a man, lying face-down, in a significant amount of blood. He journeyed closer, to get a better look, and angled his lit wand toward the body.  He used his foot to prod the corpse and then flipped it over. The dark mark was printed clearly on the man’s forearm. His face was half blown off and a few pieces of the man’s right eye were spewed across the pavement, but Severus could still see who the man had once been. It was Dolohov. Antonin Dolohov had been a particularly foul death eater that Severus had always despised. He was known for torturing muggle children and killing them in the most appalling ways. In Severus’s opinion, he was one of the most despicable people in the world, second only to the Dark Lord.

He couldn’t allow the body to lay abandoned here, and he knew that no one would miss the death eater. Without feeling any sympathy, Severus cleaned up the mess with a flick of his wand. The blood and remnants of the body disappeared as if they had never been there. But the potions master was more curious than ever. _What was a muggle weapon doing here?_ Severus inspected the scene more thoroughly, searching for evidence that might explain what had happened tonight. Just to the right of where the body had lain, was a bookshelf. Just under the bookshelf, there were two containers that were half full. One was dreamless sleep, and the other was a bruise salve. Pieces of the puzzle started connecting inside his mind. Severus had an idea of what had occurred tonight. The mysterious boy had been here, and by some miracle, he had survived.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry was a wreck.

Physically, he was exhausted. The amount of stress that his body had been under in the last couple of days had left him sore and weary. He had gone from being weak from lack of food, to being injured from his confrontation with his uncle, to actually being tired from lack of sleep, to being attacked again, only hours ago. Now that his adrenaline was gone, he felt the pain in his ankle worse than ever. It throbbed erratically with each beat of his pounding heart. He could feel new bruises springing up on his wrists and torso as well, but it wasn’t the physical pain that made him stop in his tracks and stare blankly into the night.

Mentally, he was falling apart. He felt violated and disgusting. Dirt and sweat clung to his skin, as well as the blood and guts from the man that he’d left dead in the alley. His lashes were thick and heavy with moisture. Harry blinked his eyes and felt twin tear tracks trailing down both his cheeks. He let out a strangled noise that was a mixture of a whimper and a sob. He didn’t want to run anymore. He didn’t want to fight. He just wanted to disappear forever. He was a murderer for the second time. The first time he hadn’t meant it; it had been an accident. But this time, he had no excuse. He had pulled the trigger, fully knowing the consequences that his actions would have. He had never wanted to kill anyone, but he couldn’t let the man do that to him. Could he? Maybe he should have. Maybe he should have let the stranger do whatever he wanted to him. Maybe the man would have killed him. _Maybe I deserved it._

Harry stood frozen on the semi-dark street. He could see the first glimpses of sunlight peeking their way over the horizon. Just enough light illuminated the street that he could see the sign for Diagon Alley up ahead. He just couldn’t find the motivation to move. He didn’t know where to go. He didn’t have anywhere to go. He kept hearing the gun fire, over and over again, in his mind. He didn’t want the sun to come up. In the dark, he could pretend that it had never happened. Once it was light, he’d be able to see the blood that covered him but wasn’t his and the bruises left by unwelcome hands that gripped his flesh. He just needed to forget. He would forget that any of it had ever happened. He saw a small building on the corner of the street with a for sale sign in the front window. It looked vacant, and Harry shuffled over to the backside of the building. Deciding that nothing really mattered anymore, Harry walked over to a window and punched it. He felt the glass shatter under his fist. He crawled through the window and into the dark room. The darkness soothed him. He would be safer here. _I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine._ This mantra repeated in his head like a broken record, but he knew that it wasn’t true.

* * *

 Hours had passed, but Harry hadn’t moved from his place in the floor. He was huddled against the wall, with his head resting on his knees, facing away from the light that streamed through the broken window, staring unfocused at a deep scuff on the wooden floor. He had no thoughts. He didn’t feel anything. He was just an object in an empty room, stationary and insignificant.

He felt something brush against his shoulder, and he flinched violently, swinging his head around to see the intruder. Hedwig squawked loudly and jumped down to the floor as if she was offended by his sudden movement. Harry hadn’t seen his owl since the beginning of the summer, when he’d sent her to the Weasleys. He knew she would have been trapped inside her cage if she had stayed with him at the Dursleys. She held a lumpy, rectangular package in her talons along with an envelope. When Harry made no movement to open either of them, she hooted at him in frustration. When he still remained motionless, her intelligent eyes journeyed over him with concern. She shimmied up against his leg, nudging him gently with her beak.

Hedwig’s presence did bring him some comfort, so Harry tentatively reached for the envelope and tore it open. He slipped the letter out and started to read.

**Hey, Mate. I know you said not to send Hedwig back unless it was important, but I heard about your Aunt. Mum and Dad were talking about it with Dumbledore a few nights ago. They were going to ask if you could stay at the Burrow for the rest of the summer like last year, but I guess now you can’t. He said that she died from a heart attack. I didn’t know muggles could die from that sort of thing. When I heard about it I started laughing, I mean who knew your own heart could attack you. Muggles have the strangest problems. Well anyway, Mum heard me laughing, told me it was not a funny situation, and that your aunt had died from it. I’m really sorry. From what you’ve told me, I know she wasn’t your favorite person, but I can’t imagine that you feel happy about it. Dumbledore said that the funeral was this week, and that you would want to be with your family while they grieved and stuff. He asked Mum to pick up your things for Hogwarts when we went to Diagon Alley yesterday. I couldn’t send it all with Hedwig, so we had most of it transported directly to school. It should all be in our dorm when we get there. Mum insisted that I send you your new textbooks though. We had to get four new books this year, but I only sent The Standard book of Spells for Grade 3. I figured you wouldn’t touch our new potions textbook, the divination one looked boring, and the book for our magical creature’s class actually bites, so I put them with the rest of your stuff. I know she was your aunt and all, but it really stinks that she had to die at the end of the summer instead of the beginning. I was really hoping you could come stay with us for a while. I hope the Dursleys are feeding you enough this summer, but just in case, I had Mum make some biscuits to send. I’ll see you next week at Hogwarts. -Ron**

Harry finished the letter and then placed it on the ground, next to him. That had not been what he had expected to read. Ron hadn’t said anything about what Harry had done. Ron didn’t know that he had murdered Marge and ran away, but Dumbledore must have known. If he knew that Marge was dead, he had to know. It didn’t make any sense.

Harry supposed that Dumbledore could have found out what happened and fixed it for him. He could have made it seem like a simple heart attack to keep Harry out of trouble. _But why would he do that? Surely Dumbledore wouldn’t cover up a murder… But what if he had?_ The wheels started turning in Harry’s mind. Dumbledore must have known that Harry hadn’t done it on purpose and took pity on him. He could have gone to the Dursleys and obliviated them before the ministry had gotten there. The ministry might not have even investigated his accidental magic. But Dumbledore would have to have known that Harry had run away. Maybe he had the Weasley’s get his things because he knew Ron would contact him. Maybe he was letting him know that it was safe to come back, and that he wasn’t in any trouble. Maybe he was still allowed to go to Hogwarts.

Harry was still confused about the situation, but he went ahead and opened the package. Inside was a plate of fresh biscuits and a plastic jug of pumpkin juice which rested on top of his textbook. He hadn’t even realized he was hungry, until he saw the food in front of him. He scarfed it all down in a matter of minutes and then gulped down the juice, feeling satisfied.

He reached out and plucked the book off the dusty floor. It was the standard textbook for third years and he flipped through it, trying to distract himself from all the thoughts running through his head. He stopped suddenly when a few words jumped out at him from the page. **Pain relief.** A spell that would relieve the pain from a minor injury. It was a temporary spell that would have to be recast, but even a quick break from the agony would be an improvement. If only he could use the spell to fix his ankle. Each time he thought of the pain, it became almost unbearable, and if he went to Hogwarts his limp would be easily noticed. He couldn’t use his wand. He knew that the ministry would be alerted if he cast any spells with it outside of school. But he had two wands. He had his own, and he had the wand from last night, the dead man’s wand. If he were to cast a spell, no one would know.

Deciding that it was worth a try, Harry hesitantly picked up the wand. It was darker than his own, and shorter, with a little snake etched into the side. He raised it above his injured ankle, recited the incantation as it was written in the book, and flicked his wrist. Immediately he noticed a difference in the state of his ankle. It still hurt, but he felt as if he could actually walk on it now.

Knowing that he could cast spells without consequences, Harry leafed through the textbook some more. He found a section on appearance changing spells and searched for a way that he could change his hair back to normal. Going back to Hogwarts with brown short hair, instead of his usual untamed, black mess, would be bound to raise some questions. He knew he couldn’t return without his signature green eyes either, so he carefully removed the contacts and put his glasses back on. After scouring the pages, he found spells that would grow his hair and change its color. He used both spells and then picked up a large shard of broken glass on the floor to observe his reflection. It was slightly shorter than it had been, but it was the correct color. Harry ran his hands through it, and then paused when he felt the sticky, dried blood that was still caked in it brush against his fingers. He promised that he wouldn’t think about it. He couldn’t think about it.

Harry became catatonic again. He rocked back and forth on the floor, not thinking about anything. He was completely withdrawn from the world. Hedwig sat forgotten, beside him, hooting shrilly, but Harry never even heard her. He was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

Gradually Harry came back to himself. His emerald eyes, that had been glassy and unfocused for the last few hours, brightened and returned to their normal state. He glanced inquisitively around the dull, little room. Hedwig was perched next to him, her head still nuzzled up against his leg. She looked relieved when she noticed him moving around. He softly stroked her feathers.

“Thanks, Hedwig.” He said to her. His throat was dry and sore, and his voice sounded more like a croak than a whisper. “Can you fly back to the Burrow now?” he inquired after a moment. She stared at him quizzically, as if to say he was crazy if he thought she was going anywhere. “Really, I’m fine now. I promise.” Harry said to her with a forced smile. When she made no move to leave, he spoke to her again. “Please just go to Ron, so he knows I got his letter. I’ll be at Hogwarts in a couple days, and I’ll come visit you in the owlery.” He stared deep into Hedwig’s yellow eyes and silently pleaded that she would go. Sensing his need to be alone, the snowy owl hopped onto the window sill, gave her owner one last look of concern, and then flew out into the sky.

Once she was gone, Harry started working on the next phase of his plan. If he was going back to Hogwarts he was going to need to clean himself up and find someplace to stay until he could board the train. He supposed he could dwell in this vacant building for the next couple of days, but he really preferred not to. He wondered if he could stay at the Leaky Cauldron. Tom, the innkeeper, would recognize him, but Harry figured that if he asked, Tom would probably keep quiet about where the boy-who-lived was staying. He would even pay extra if it would keep the man from telling anyone that he was there. He hoped that someone else would be working at the management desk today. Then Harry could simply give a fake name and a handful of galleons and no one would ask him any questions.

Harry knew that he looked like hell, so he pulled his torn sweatshirt back on to cover his bare, blood-stained torso and put the hood up to cover his grimy, red tinged hair. There were still some specks of blood on his jeans, but he didn’t stop to look at them. He stood up on his shaky legs and heard his back pop in several places. He had been sitting, hunched over in the floor, for much too long, and he stretched to relieve the tension in his muscles. The pain in his ankle had returned, so he recast the pain relief spell and then retrieved the invisibility cloak from his bag.

When Harry made it to the inn, he was relieved to see that he didn’t recognize the young man behind the counter. He removed his invisibility cloak and walked over to the front desk. The man, who looked more like an older teenager, eyed Harry with curiosity.

“Can I help you?” he asked in a quizzical tone, his eyes narrowed.

“I’d like a room for four days please.” Harry stated without emotion.

“Okay, but its gonna cost you. What’s your name, kid?” He inquired, straightening his wrinkled uniform. Harry noticed a name tag tacked to the front of his shirt that said Henry.

“Uhh… Neville. Neville Longbottom.” Harry blurted out without thinking. Henry seemed to accept that Harry was telling the truth. He told him how much the room would cost, and Harry handed over the galleons promptly, before taking his room key and trudging up the stairs to find his room.

Once inside, Harry sighed with relief and sank down onto the plush mattress. He was impressed by the quality of the room. To his right was a sparkling clean bathroom, equipped with a jacuzzi style tub and marble countertops. Everything seemed elegant and polished in here, which starkly contrasted with the dirty pub downstairs. On the nightstand next to the bed, was a menu containing a list of the food that could be brought to the room instantly whenever he wished. Harry had a good feeling about this room. He definitely wouldn’t mind being stuck here for a few days. It was almost like a vacation.

* * *

 The four days seemed to rush by in a blur. Harry took advantage of the comfortable bed and spent most of his time sleeping. He woke up frequently from nightmares, with his heart pounding and sweat covering his body. When the memories tugged at the back of his mind, he had several more episodes where he found himself staring blankly at the walls, but he was starting to feel a little better. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost convince himself that it had all been a vivid dream. He hoped that he could put it all behind him. He was going back to Hogwarts, his home.

Harry left his room early on the fourth day, lugging his ratty bag along with him. He caught a taxi to the train station and ran through the barrier to platform 9 ¾ alone. Not many students were on the platform yet, and Harry rushed past them all, hoping to go unnoticed. He was one of the first people to board the Hogwarts Express, and he chose the last compartment on the train. He sat down in the seat and rested his head against the window. He could pretend everything was all right. He had to.

It was close to an hour before he heard the compartment door slide open behind him. Even though he had been anticipating the noise, he still flinched, to his own annoyance. Hermione entered the small room, beaming at him expectantly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” She exclaimed happily, flipping her bushy brown hair over her shoulder. She plopped down on the seat opposite him, beaming, however, the carefree grin on her face turned to consternation, when she took in Harry’s appearance. “Are you alright?” She gasped.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Harry said plainly. “How was your Summer?”

“But, Harry, you look sick! And what happened to your face?” She asked quickly, disregarding the question that Harry had asked her.

“I’m fine, Hermione. It’s just a scratch. And actually, I was sick. It was the stomach flu, but I’m fine now.” He lied, impressed by his own quick thinking.

“Are you sure? You just seem,” she paused for a moment, choosing her next words carefully, “off. You’re thinner than usual, and that scratch looks quite painful.”

“Really, its fine. I tripped and scraped it on the pavement a couple days ago. It doesn’t even hurt.” Harry forced a smile at her. “Now, how was your summer?”

She seemed to accept his excuses, so she answered the question. He listened to Hermione drone on and on about the _fascinating_ research she had been doing, making sure to seem interested. He made himself nod occasionally, to show he was paying attention, but he didn’t take in a word she said. 

Just before the train was set to take off, a breathless, red-faced Ron burst into the compartment. “Hey guys!” He said cheerfully and made an awkward waving gesture.

Hermione, of course, was bothered by his tardiness. “Ron, where were you? You nearly missed the train!” She shouted at him.

“S’not my fault!” Ron whined. “We were almost here and then we had to go back to the house. Fred forgot his broomstick. Then he and George kept taking things out of my trunk and hiding them around the train station. I’ve been running all over trying to find it all. My potions book was in a rubbish bin, and now it’s got bits of someone’s sandwich on it! Look!” He shouted and thrust the soiled book out, panting.

“Maybe you should keep better track of your things.” Hermione snapped. Harry thought she was just bitter because Ron had interrupted her story.

Ron looked like he was about to argue, but then he saw Harry and froze. “Mate, what happened to you? You look terrible!”

“Thanks, Ron.” Harry said sarcastically. “I’ve just had the flu, and the scrape is from when I fell,” he explained.

“Oh. Are you sure?” He said and then shared a look with Hermione. “Well, I guess that makes sense then. So how is everything with your aunt? You never replied to my letter, so I assumed you were just busy. What happened?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.” Harry replied truthfully. He had made up a fake story to explain everything, but he didn’t want to lie to his friends.

“Oh… Alright then. Another time.” Ron said awkwardly and looked over at Hermione. “So, I’m assuming you’ve already finished all the textbooks for this year.” He said sardonically.

Hermione huffed and decided not to respond to him. Instead she continued to prattle on to Harry about a book that she had read during the summer. At some point during her story, probably around the time when Harry had heard Hermione say fascinating for about the fifteenth time, he turned and stared out the window, listening to the sounds of the train chugging forward and watching the landscape blur by.

Ron was sick of hearing her blabber on too and he interrupted again. “Hermione, for the love of Merlin, QUIT TALKING!” he shouted at her jovially. Harry heard his outburst and turned to stare, a smile tugging at his lips.

“But, Ron. Haven’t you been listening? It’s fa-“

Ron snickered and cut her off. “FASCINATING! I know I’ve heard you say it thirty-five bloody times!” Ron bellowed. “You know what I would rather do than hear you talk about that book?” He said to her slowly, taking in her stern expression. “I would rather kiss Snape on the cheek!” He shouted, and Harry snorted and then burst out laughing. Ron continued with a serious expression. “I would rather cut off my own thumb and eat it. I would rather suck the puss out of the blister on Mr. Filch’s chin, while standing on nails, and listening to opera music. I would rather eat shit and die!” Ron exclaimed, and then broke down and started giggling hysterically.

“RONALD!” Hermione admonished sharply, seeming shocked by his outburst, before looking over at Harry. He was nearly in tears from laughing so hard, and she was glad to see him acting more like himself. She soon joined in with their laughter too, deciding that Ron’s comments, while inappropriate, were amusing to think about. The three of them cackled until they were nearly out of breath. Harry was gripping his side in pain; Ron sounded like a hyena, and it was impossible to stop laughing with him howling.

Then, suddenly, the train lurched to an abrupt stop, and they all stopped laughing. It was getting very cold, and a sense of dread was creeping over them. Icy tendrils seemed to slink sneakily into the compartment and grip each one of them. The lights in the room flickered and then burned out, leaving them in complete darkness. They heard shouting coming from the other compartments, and they all went rigid with fear. Then they heard the door to their room creak open.

Harry sat rigid in his seat as if frozen. He saw flashes of everything. All his worst nightmares were unfolding all around him. He was being bombarded with images. It was pitch black in the compartment, but he could see everything. To his left was the basilisk, ginormous and baring down on him, with its fangs outstretched. Harry tumbled off his seat and shuffled back against the wall, trying to distance himself from it. Then he heard the roar of his Uncle Vernon and saw the plump man charging toward him, his fists outstretched, ready to strangle the life out of him. Harry ducked his head under and curled into a tight ball on the floor, whimpering. He shut his eyes, but the images didn’t go away. Now he could see the dead man from last night, only he was not dead anymore. He slid his grimy fingers through Harry’s hair, murmuring foul things in his ears, and trying to remove his sweatshirt. “No. No. No. No. NO. GET AWAY FROM ME!” Harry wailed. His entire body quaked with fear.

Then he heard a red-haired woman pleading for his life. “No not Harry. Not Harry!” She cried desperately. There was a chilling cackle and a flash of green light and then the woman lay dead on the floor. Harry could see her lifeless green eyes, so much like his own. Then the scene changed, and the familiar green eyes turned into Marge Dursley’s cold, dead eyes. After a moment, her face morphed into another’s, and he saw the chunks of blood and flesh that had once been a man’s face. Every bad memory swirled around him like the flurries of snow in a rampant blizzard. He wished he were dead too.

* * *

 Hermione Granger did not understand what had happened, and for her, that was a frustrating problem. She was sitting in the carriage, on the way to the castle, thinking silently. She had been going over the events in her head for the past ten minutes, but she still had no real answers to her questions. She considered the circumstances again.

When the lights in their compartment had gone out, they had been trapped in darkness. The temperature dropped significantly, and then this creature appeared. She could barely make out its misty hooded form in the dark, but she had seen it. She didn’t like the way it made her feel. She felt cold and empty when it had come near her. The creature, which she now knew to be a dementor, had peered inside the room, searching for something. She heard movement inside the room, as if someone had fallen, and then someone started whimpering. At first, she had thought it was Ron, but then she heard her red-headed friend speak. “Harry?” he asked with concern. The dementor was still in the doorway, unmoving. She heard more shuffling and then Harry began mumbling “no” repeatedly. Hermione noticed footsteps approaching them, and then a man shouted a spell that produced a great burst of white light and the monster vanished. The cold feeling seemed to trickle out of the room, and she felt almost normal again. That was when Harry started screaming.

The lights flashed back on abruptly, and the train car was bathed in yellow light. Her eyes had turned to the source of the noise, and she was startled to see Harry writhing on the floor. His eyes were clenched tightly shut and his mouth was opened wide. He just kept screaming. The sound of her friend’s pain caused fear to build up inside her, but she didn’t know what to do. She noticed several students watching through the door, ogling Harry.

Then the man who had produced the light stepped into the compartment and rushed over to Harry’s side. He wore a ragged brown suit and he looked slightly disheveled. His warm, caramel eyes showed concern, and he knelt next to her friend and spoke to him in a soothing voice. The children who watched through the door were whispering to each other. Ron got up shakily and closed the door to keep them from seeing what was going on. The screeching did not cease, so the man waved his wand and uttered a spell. Harry had fallen silent then but, his eyes remained closed.

“Excuse me, sir.” Hermione said hesitantly. “What is going on? Is Harry alright? What were those things?”

“Your friend is going to be fine. Those things were dementors. They were on the train searching for an escaped convict from Azkaban. Apparently, they didn’t find anything, and they’ve left now.” He told her calmly.

“But what happened to Harry? Why was he screaming?” Hermione paused. “And who exactly are you, if you don’t mind me asking.”

The man chuckled. “My name is Remus Lupin, and I will be the defense against the dark arts professor at Hogwarts this year. It’s nice to meet you.” She stuck out her hand to him, and he shook it. Then he handed her and Ron a square of chocolate.

“Uhhh…. Thanks?” Ron said confused and then shoved the sweet into his mouth.

“It’s for the dementor encounter. They can cause feelings of unease and drain your magical core. The chocolate will help you feel better.” Professor Lupin explained. “As for your questions about Harry, I don’t have an exact answer. Dementors can affect everyone differently. I’m sure you both felt the odd sensations when it was in the room.” He looked at them for confirmation, and they both nodded. “Well, people with particularly bad memories can be more sensitive to them and can be seriously affected by their presence. Harry must have had a bad reaction to them, and they caused him to experience flashbacks of traumatic memories. I’m sure he’ll be fine when he wakes up.”

“We’re nearly to Hogwarts now. Will he need to go to the hospital wing?” She asked him.

“Hermione, Harry hates the hospital wing.” Ron told her, frowning.

Remus paused for a moment and considered the question. “I don’t think that will be necessary. You should just let him rest. I’m guessing that he will be awake soon anyway. Just make sure he eats this when he wakes up.” He said and handed Hermione a larger chunk of chocolate. “I need to go check on the other students now, but if you have any problems you may come find me.” Remus told them sincerely, and then headed down the narrow hallway.

When they reached Hogwarts, Ron had found Fred and George, who helped him load Harry into one of the carriages. The twins commented on how light Harry was. They seemed shocked that the thirteen-year-old weighed so little. They all rode to the castle in silence, thinking about the events that transpired on the train. They were all worried about Harry.

Hermione was still thinking about what kind of memories could have caused him to react the way that he had. The whole situation wasn’t adding up. Something was wrong with her friend.

* * *

 When Harry opened his eyes, he found himself staring at the rocky ceiling in his dormitory. His head felt fuzzy, and he wasn’t sure how he’d gotten here. The last thing he remembered was getting really cold on the train. He sat up quickly, ignoring the pain from his aching body and peered around the room curiously. He was alone. He slung his feet over the side of his bed and winced when his ankle hit the floor. He’d need to recast the spell on it again soon.

 At the foot of his bed, where his trunk should have sat, he noticed the rest of his books, his potions kit, and his new school robes that Mrs. Weasley had gotten for him. He wished that he could get his trunk from the Dursley’s. He supposed it was still sitting in the dusty cupboard, unless Vernon had thrown it out or burned it. It contained his partially finished homework assignments for the beginning of the term, as well as, a few of the books he would need, the rest of his school robes, and several miscellaneous items. He saw his duffle bag, lying partially hidden underneath his bed, and he pulled it out to examine the contents. He had almost forgotten about the items that were inside it. He would need to find a place to hide them. If anyone found out he had a gun here, or the dead man’s wand, he would be in a lot of trouble. He rummaged through the bag and pulled out the incriminating items. He recast the pain relief spell with the wand and then shoved it and the gun under his mattress. Eventually he would need to find a more secure place to store them, but for now it would do.

As soon as Harry had hidden the objects, the door to the dormitory flew open. Harry spun around swiftly, a terrified expression on his face.

“Hey. Calm down, mate. It’s just me.” Ron said, walking over and plopping down on the bed next to Harry. “I’m glad you’re finally awake. Maybe we won’t miss the feast after all.”

“What happened?” Harry asked.

“Well what do you remember?”

“Um. We were on the train. You were talking about kissing Snape.” Harry retorted and then chuckled at the disgusted look Ron gave him. “Then the train stopped, and it got cold. What happened after that? How did I get here?” Harry inquired.

“Well, there were dementors on the train.” He noticed Harry’s questioning glance and added, “They’re the creatures that guard the wizarding prison. Anyway, they came into our compartment, and you passed out.”

“Why?” Harry asked, bewildered. Then he vaguely remembered having a nightmare on the train, but he didn’t want to dwell on that. He hoped that he hadn’t yelled out in his sleep.

“They suck out your happiness and drain your magical core. Our new defense professor said that people with a lot of bad memories have more serious reactions to them.” Ron told him solemnly, looking at the floor.

“Oh…” Harry replied. “So, I just passed out? How did I get in here?”

“Well actually….” Ron paused for a moment. “You had sort of a fit.”

“What?” Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

“It was like you had a flashback or something. You were screaming and thrashing around. It was terrifying.” Ron told him, still not meeting his eyes. “Then Fred and George carried you up here about two hours ago.”

“Oh… Did anyone else pass out?” Harry asked hopefully.

“Um… Not that I know of. But you have seen some pretty bad shit. I mean, no one blames you.”

Harry stared somberly at the floor. “Does anyone else know? Did they see?” He said slowly, dreading the answer.

“Well…. Some people sort of heard you yelling, and they came to the door.”

“So, everyone probably knows…” Harry stated grimly.

“Maybe not.” Ron said quickly. “They might not have told anyone about it.” Ron told him, but he didn’t sound convinced. “So, do you wanna go down to the feast? We’ve already missed the sorting, but I’m sure you’re hungry.”

Harry couldn’t deny that he was hungry, but he really didn’t want to go see everyone. He was sure that the gossip would have already traveled around the school.

When Harry didn’t respond, Ron addressed him again. “Hey, it’ll be fine. It can’t be worse than last year, right? If anyone messes with you, we’ll just convince them that you’re the heir of Slytherin again.” Ron said and laughed.

Harry smiled grimly and nodded. He would go down to the feast for a little while, just to get some food.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Ron exclaimed and pulled a brown squishy lump out of his pocket and thrust it at Harry.

Harry scrunched up his face in disgust. “What is it?”

“It’s chocolate!” Ron laughed. “Professor Lupin told me to give it to you when you wake up.”

“Why?” Harry asked, puzzled.

“I don’t remember, some rubbish about exhaustion or something…” The baffled look did not leave Harry’s face. “It’s chocolate, just eat it! It’s good!” Ron retorted.

Harry hesitantly took the melted blob from Ron and laughed.

When Harry and Ron reached the Gryffindor table, numerous pairs of eyes followed them. All throughout the hall, students whispered to each other, and several people at the Slytherin table snickered when they passed. They sat near the end of the table, next to Hermione. Harry noticed a few new faces at their table and deduced that they must be the new first years. Even they were throwing glances at Harry. Hermione smiled encouragingly at him and started talking cheerfully about the subjects she was taking. Harry wasn’t exactly interested, but he was grateful for the distraction.

Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom sat across from them, Dean and Seamus shooting curious looks at Harry. Eventually Seamus spoke up. “So, Potter, is it true?”

“Is what true?” Harry said in an impassive tone.

“They’re saying that you passed out on the train. That the dementors caused you to have a vision of you know who and you were screaming and crying.” Seamus told him.

“Yes, I passed out, but the rest is complete rubbish.” Harry snapped, irritated with how much the story had been embellished already.

Seamus was quiet after that, but he and Dean shared a look that suggested they didn’t believe him. Even Neville seemed unsure of what to believe. Harry decided he didn’t care. He had plenty of other things to worry about. He munched on his food slowly, with his head down, avoiding everyone. He had just finished the food on his plate, and was feeling quite full, when Neville grabbed a dish from the center of the table. He was not paying much attention to his surroundings and bumped his elbow into Dean. Then he lost his grip on the bowl. Harry watched it slip from his hands and then felt warm liquid splash across his face and arms.

“I’m so sorry, Harry!” Neville sputtered, looking terrified.

Harry looked down at his arms and his robe. They were splattered with red sauce. It was like he was back in the alley, underneath the dead man. He felt his stomach lurch and he stood up abruptly, his green eyes darted around wildly.

“It was just tomato soup.” Said Neville. “It shouldn’t stain.”

Harry didn’t even hear him. He fled from the hall.

* * *

 Up at the staff table, Severus Snape was feeling irritated. Ever since the night that he chased the small boy through the streets, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the brat. He wanted to know what had happened, why the boy had been in the apothecary, why the boy had run from him, and why he had a gun and was able to escape the death eater. He was sure that he would see him at Hogwarts during the sorting. He was convinced that the boy would be a first year, but none of the students that arrived at the castle resembled him. Now Severus didn’t know if he would ever get the answers to his questions.

Minerva nudged him with her elbow and shot him a pointed look. “You seem distracted, Severus.” She told him.

He sneered at her. “I’m just dreading teaching these dim-witted children for another year.” He told her, annoyed.

“Come on, now, Severus. The students aren’t that bad. I, for one, think that the teacher might be the problem.” She said with a smirk.

Severus didn’t bother responding to her. He zoned out again, his thoughts drifting back to the brown-haired youth from the apothecary. Then the old witch’s voice pulled him out of his musings.

“Potter sure looks thin this year. I heard he passed out on the train. I don’t think those damn muggles ever feed him.” Minerva remarked. He looked over to where Potter was standing. They both watched Harry dramatically run out of the great hall. _Trying to draw attention to himself again. Just like his father._ Severus thought grimly.

“I’m sure that precious Prince Potter gets plenty of food, Minerva. Maybe he’s just too spoiled to eat what they give him.” He snapped back at her.

They didn’t talk for the rest of the feast, and that suited him just fine. Severus sat back and thought. _If anyone needs more food, it’s that child from Diagon Alley. Potter doesn’t even compare to how thin that boy was._


	11. Chapter 11

Harry was a small, black-haired blur, flying through the corridors. His arms scratched at his face wildly, trying to remove all remnants of the red liquid. He veered left, then right. Tears ran down his cheeks, blurring his vision, and his small frame shook with sobs. In his periphery, he noticed the sign for the bathroom, and he flung the heavy door open. Without pausing to see if the room was empty, he ran into a stall and expelled the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl. He heaved over and over, feeling every morsel of food that he’d consumed leaving his body.

When his heaving subsided, he pressed his sweaty palms against the cool stone wall and slid onto the dirty floor. His arms were still stained with red, and he tore off his cloak, needing to be free from its confining grasp. He tossed it to the side, but he still felt trapped, still felt hands all over him, groping, grabbing, grazing. He couldn’t think about it. He heard his own racing heartbeat and his short uneven breaths. He rested his head on his knees and focused solely on his breathing. It was all too much.

After several minutes, Harry stood. His expression was blank, and his eyes stared unblinkingly at the floor. He walked calmly down the hallway, his steps even and movements robotic. He went up staircases and through corridors, and all the while he remained stoic. He finally reached Gryffindor tower and spoke the password. Then he went up to his dorm, laid down on his bed, and shut his lifeless eyes.

He woke up gasping from a nightmare, as he often did nowadays. He was soaked in sweat, and he let out a quiet groan as he sat up. He didn’t really remember walking back from the bathroom to his bed last night, and he felt groggy and confused. All around him, the room was dark, but he could see the faint outline of his roommates lying in their beds and could hear someone’s soft snoring. Knowing that he had no chance of falling back to sleep now, he stood up shakily and tiptoed to the door, his ankle throbbing more viciously than ever before.

He made his way down the stairs carefully, placing as little weight on his injured leg as possible. When he reached the common room, he sank down into a plush armchair near the fire. The light from the dancing flames bathed the room in haunting yellow light, and he used it to assess the damage to his ankle. He raised his pant leg gently, wincing as his hand brushed against his injury. Underneath he could see that the swelling had returned. Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and waved it over his injured ankle. The healing spell tumbled from his lips in a whisper, and he instantly felt some relief.

Harry’s stomach let out a fierce growl that seemed to echo in the silent room. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but he knew it was much too early to go down for breakfast, not that he wanted to go. He knew that he had made an even bigger fool of himself last night at the feast. Everyone would think he was crazy. He couldn’t go back to the great hall. He couldn’t stand all the eyes on him, all the people around, all the sudden movements. He just needed to be alone. At this point he was used to the unrelenting hunger anyways, he even found it a bit comforting. If he focused on the hunger, he wouldn’t think about the bad things. If he focused on the hunger, it was like they never even happened. Harry sat in the chair staring into the crackling fire.

* * *

 It wasn’t long before the common room was bright with sunlight. Voices could be heard from the dorms, and several students came trickling down the stairs. Hermione was among one of these early-risers. She was carrying an armload of books, and she plopped down at an empty table near the window to study before breakfast. She was just pulling out a quill to jot down some extra notes for transfiguration when she noticed a familiar mop of messy black hair sticking over the top of an armchair.

“Harry?” she called hesitantly, wondering what he would be doing out of bed so early. During their previous years at Hogwarts, Harry and Ron had both proven to be late sleepers, most of the time leaving their dorms at the last possible moment.

When the person in the chair made no inclination that he had heard her, Hermione stood up from the table and strode over to him. He was sitting cross legged, with his hands folded in his lap, staring transfixed at the fireplace. She surveyed him for a moment, noticing how his eyes were glazed over and rarely blinking.

“Harry?” she said again, this time nudging him gently with her hand.

His reaction was instantaneous. In a flash, Harry’s head snapped to the side, he let out a small gasp, and his eyes darted around wildly. Hermione, startled by his sudden movement, took a step back. She gaped at him. Then, without warning, the terrified expression left Harry’s face and the tension from his body was gone.

“Oh… Hermione. You uh. You startled me.”

“Harry, are you alright?” She asked him.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He replied awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. “I just wasn’t expecting you to be here. I guess I just kind of zoned out.” He said forcing a carefree laugh that sounded more like the shrill giggle of a madwoman.

Hermione continued to stare at him and look for signs of distress. She knew that something was wrong, but she also knew that, whatever it was, Harry was not going to tell her. After he had run from the great hall last night, she and Ron had searched for him for nearly an hour, before Neville had found Harry sound asleep in his dorm. She was really worried about him, but finally, she nodded, accepting his lies.

“So, what were you doing down here so early? I normally have to send someone to pull you and Ron out of bed in the morning.” She said, smiling warmly at him.

“Oh, well I wasn’t that tired, and I couldn’t sleep, so I figured that I would come down here for a while… Also, Ron and Seamus snore.” He told her with an uneasy grin.

“Really?” She asked him seriously. “You look exhausted.”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He said, seeming slightly agitated.

Hermione decided to change the subject. “Do you want me to proofread your essay for potions before class?” She asked him, knowing that Professor Snape’s yelling was the last thing he needed, and his essay would likely need some work.

Harry’s face fell at the mention of the essay. “I haven’t written one,” he said softly.

“Oh… Well Harry, that was a pretty big assignment. Maybe I could help you get it partially written at least. You’ve read the first chapter over hair-raising potions, right?” She asked him. Their essays were supposed to contain details from the chapter, as well as their own individual research. It had taken her nearly seven hours to study and complete her essay, and she thought that if he knew the basics, maybe he could get most of the main points.

“No… There’s really no reason for me to do it anyway. Nothing I write is good enough for Snape, and I don’t want to waste my time.” He snapped.

“Well, Harry,” she started to admonish, but when she noticed his dejected expression, she paused. “Have you finished any of your work?”

“No.”

Without asking any more questions, Hermione snatched her books from the table and carried them over to Harry. She sat down beside him and carefully explained the main points from their third-year texts. She could tell that he wasn’t really listening, but she continued anyway, trying to keep him focused. By the time Ron shuffled sluggishly down the staircase, she had completed Harry’s essay for transfiguration and most of his work for Herbology without much of his help.

Ron spotted them by the fire and walked over. Hermione saw him start to speak to Harry, and she shook her head sharply, knowing that Ron would inquire about what happened the night before. She knew that Harry wouldn’t want to talk about it, and he already seemed upset enough. Ron seemed to understand her silent message because he caught her eye and nodded.

“Hey, Harry!” Ron said cheerfully. “You ready for breakfast?”

“I think I’ll skip it today.” Harry replied slowly. “I’m not very hungry.”

“Are you sure? You didn’t eat much last night.” Ron said, sharing a look with Hermione. When Harry didn’t respond, he started again. “If you’re worried about Dean and Seamus, I told them off after you left last night. They aren’t going to bother you anymore.”

“I don’t care what they think. I’m just not hungry.” Harry stated plainly and turned his eyes back to the fire.

Hermione watched the interaction with growing concern. “Harry, you need to eat. If you don’t want to go to breakfast, I can run down and get us all something.”

“I said I’m not hungry.” He snapped, and Hermione and Ron looked at each other, wondering what they should do. “Why don’t you guys go down without me. I’ll stay here and finish my herbology, and then I’ll meet you in potions afterward.”

“If you’re sure you aren’t hungry… I guess we’ll see you in a little while then.” Ron told Harry.

Hermione really didn’t want to leave Harry, but she decided that maybe he needed to be alone for a while, and it would be good for him to get his work done. She waved goodbye to Harry and then left with Ron, wondering if she was making the right decision.

* * *

 Harry couldn’t think straight. He didn’t want to eat. If he ate, he wouldn’t feel the hunger. If he didn’t feel the hunger, he would remember. Harry couldn’t remember…

He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t go to Potions class either. Snape had seen him that night. He had seen the scrape on his face and his limp. Harry knew that his disguise had not been great. If Snape had the slightest suspicions, Harry couldn’t even fathom the consequences.

He couldn’t focus on completing the remainder of his assignments. Instead he spent the time before Potions pacing around the common room nervously. He walked back and forth, trying to come up with a solution to his problems, but he couldn’t find one. When it came time for him to set off for the dungeons, he picked up his things and uneasily made the trek, feeling like a pig headed for slaughter.

When he arrived at the door, he paused for a brief moment before pulling it open. He was surprised to see that he was actually early for class. Only the first row of seats was filled by a few Slytherins, and Harry slid into the chair nearest the door. He knew sitting in the back would not protect him from Snape’s ridicule, but he thought that maybe the greasy git wouldn’t be able to see his face clearly from the back of the room. He peered around the dimly lit classroom, trying to calm his paranoid thoughts before class could begin.

Slowly, more and more students filtered in. Harry’s head snapped up each time he heard the creak of the door opening. Each student walked to the front of the room to deposit their essays into a black box on Snape’s desk before choosing a table. Harry gulped when he remembered that he had nothing to turn in. His palms grew slick with perspiration, and he felt an uncomfortable weight settle in his stomach. When he saw Hermione and Ron enter, he let out a breath of relief. His friends noticed him and made their way over to his table. They didn’t speak to him, but just having them near was providing him with some comfort. The minutes continued to tick by until every seat in the room was full, and the only vacant spot was at the head of the classroom.

Then a tall figure burst through the door. His ebony robes billowed out behind him, and his dramatic entrance caused all the students to go completely silent. He strode over to the board without speaking a word and tapped it once with his wand, causing a list of directions to appear. His deathly glare traveled over the young witches and wizards, who immediately got started on their potions.

Every other student in the class had already completed the first few steps, but Harry hadn’t even started. He tried to glance up inconspicuously at the board, but the distance was making it difficult for him to read the directions. Each word melted into the others, making the directions appear like a long white smudge on the blackboard. He didn’t dare look at Snape, but he could feel the man’s eyes on him. He rested his left elbow on the table and used his hand to shield the scrape that covered the side of his face. Then he raised his head to try to read the first step again, and he locked eyes with the furious Potions master.


	12. Chapter 12

Severus Snape surveyed the room with disgust. Out of all his classes, the third-year Gryffindor group was his least favorite. Between the know-it-all Granger, Longbottom the klutz, Finnegan who couldn’t complete a task without starting a fire, and Potter, Severus would be lucky to escape at the end of the hour with his sanity. Not even the presence of his Slytherin students could make an improvement.

He had walked into the Potions room nearly late and had not even bothered to speak to the group of students before presenting them with this lesson’s potion instructions. He was in a particularly foul mood. Dumbledore had drawn him aside during this morning’s staff meeting and wasted his time briefing him about Potter, as if Severus cared about the boy. Apparently, Potter’s muggle Aunt had died this Summer of a heart attack, and Dumbledore had instructed him to be gentle with the little heathen and to keep a close eye on him. Potter had never cared about anyone but himself previously. He doubted that the boy gave a second thought to the deceased woman. He supposed that the brat was just using her death to gain even more sympathy and attention than he already received.

He noticed that Potter had decided to sit in the back of the classroom this year. _Bet he figured he could get away with foolishness in the back of the room._ He fixated on Potter with an intense gaze, but the boy didn’t look up from the desk. Severus scoffed. Every other student had already progressed to the second phase of the hair-raising potion, and Potter hadn’t even started! The boy wasn’t even paying attention to the directions. He had the audacity to keep his head down as if he was about to fall asleep.

Severus scooped up the pieces of parchment in the box on his desk and ruffled through the third-year essays. He counted them once, and then frowned sourly. There was one missing! _Who could be foolish enough to not turn in their first assignment of the year?_ He skimmed over the names at the top of each essay. _Of course! POTTER! The insolent brat didn’t even bother to write an essay. I suppose he thought he could get away with it because he’s so broken up about the death of his aunt. Screw Dumbledore’s orders, the brat deserves a little discipline!_

He looked back at Potter, just as the boy lifted his head to read the board. When their eyes met, Severus stood up from his desk and let out a roar. “POTTER!”

The boy flinched violently and nearly toppled out of his chair, causing the corners of Severus’s mouth to twitch into a smirk. All the students looked up from their potions and turned toward Potter. The boy ducked his head down and stared at the top of the desk, refusing to look at the Potions master.

“Potter!” Severus yelled again. When the boy made no move to look up, he stomped to the back of the room. He hovered over the boy and slammed his fist down on his desk, causing Potter to wince and let out a yelp of fear.

“You insolent brat! Don’t you dare disrespect me! You will speak when you’re spoken to!” He bellowed.

“Yes, sir.” The boy whispered feebly.

“What, Potter? Did you think yourself too good to complete the homework? Is Prince Potter’s time too valuable to be wasted on Potions?”

“No.” Harry replied softly. He was visibly shaking, and Severus found his mood improving rapidly.

“Am I frightening you, Potter? Are you too weak to handle a little yelling?” He mocked. “Precious Potter, The boy-who lived, Savior of the Wizarding World, cowers from criticism! You’re pathetic!”

Potter seemed to shrivel in front of his eyes but provided no response. _Playing the victim again._ Severus thought mirthlessly.

“Where is your essay?” He thundered.

“I didn’t write one,” Harry said finally.

“Detention tonight, Potter! And I can see that you have no intention of completing your Potion today either. So that’ll be 50 points from Gryffindor as well.” Severus replied and made his way back to the front of the room. His Slytherins didn’t bother to hide their laughing, and the Gryffindor’s let out irritated sighs. Potter slumped down in his seat and buried his head in his hands.

Severus internally grinned under his stoic mask. _Perhaps it won’t be such a bad day after all._

* * *

Harry laid motionless in his four-poster bed. His thick woolen blanket had been pulled completely over his head, leaving him encompassed by darkness. He could feel the soft texture of the blanket brushing against his face with each breath he took, and he focused on each breath, trying to block out the events of the day.

He had been humiliated in Potions. Snape had been ruthless. Harry was used to being picked on in Potions class, but his fragile mental state had increased his sensitivity to the situation. The git had zeroed in on him and hadn’t let up. He’d been so close to him, and the callous words he spat were like fists pummeling him and pinning him to the ground. Harry had not responded well to the criticism and had ended up trembling in front of the whole class. As soon as it was over, Harry had fled up to the tower, not even slowing when he heard Ron and Hermione’s shouts. It was the second time in as many days that he had completely freaked out over a minor issue, and he was sick of feeling like a weak, pitiful child. He felt a prickling in his eyes and knew that tears were brimming just behind his closed eyelids. He wouldn’t cry. He wasn’t a child, and he could handle the pain.

He was losing control, and he could physically feel it slipping away from him. One warm tear slipped and fell down his cheek. Then another and another. _No. Damnit! I’m not a child! I don’t cry!_ Harry sprung up from the bed, flinging the blanket to the floor and getting to his feet. The tears continued to flow in slick tracks across his face. He caught sight of himself in a rectangular mirror on the wall. His hair was sticking up wildly and his face was red and puffy. He saw a freak; a worthless, pathetic child. A wave of anger took over him and he thrust out his arm to knock the mirror off the wall. Instead his foot got tangled in the heap of bedcovers and he was sent sprawling to the floor. He lay there, face down on the floor, half covered by the blanket. Then, suddenly, his crying ceased, and his face became blank. He was gone again.

* * *

 After Potion’s class, more than anything, Ron wanted to see if Harry was alright. He had been acting so strange lately. He was jumpy and distant. He was secretive and quiet. Ron had never seen him so broken. The second that Snape had dismissed the class, Harry had bolted up from his seat and fled out the door before Ron could even pick up his things. He and Hermione had tried to call after Harry, but he had either already been out of earshot or he had ignored them.

Now, Harry was shut up in the dorm room, and Ron wasn’t sure if he should go in and disturb him. He wondered if his friend just needed some time alone. Ron leaned against the wall and ran a hand through his shaggy red hair. He paced back and forth outside the room, debating on whether to enter. Deciding that he would give Harry some space, he sat down in the hall and started practicing some charms from his new textbook.

He had been waiting outside for nearly an hour when he heard a loud thud, as if something heavy had been dropped onto the stone floor. His head jerked up at the sudden noise, and he quickly jumped to his feet. He approached the closed door and knocked three times.

“Harry?” He called disconcertingly. He waited a moment for a response, and when none came, he pulled the door to the dormitory open. His eyes widened at the peculiar sight.

Harry was face down on the cold stone floor, and he wasn’t moving. He was unnaturally still, and for a moment, Ron wondered if he was dead. He rushed over to his friend and turned him over. The first thing he noticed was that Harry was breathing, which made him sigh with relief. The second thing that he noticed was that Harry’s eyes were open and staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Harry?” He said worriedly, snapping his fingers in front of his friend’s unblinking eyes. Harry made no response and Ron stared at him uneasily, wondering what he should do. He nudged Harry gently with his hand, trying to rouse some sort of response, but Harry remained a lifeless statue.

Ron started to panic. He didn’t know what to do. _Is Harry going to die?_ He wondered hysterically. Ron was just getting ready to run to find help, when he noticed a pitcher of water resting on the desk. _It’s worth a shot,_ he thought to himself. He picked up the jug and emptied its contents directly onto Harry’s blank face.

As soon as the first drop of water splashed onto his face, Harry sat up swiftly, startling Ron who dropped the whole pitcher on top of Harry’s head.

“Ow! Ron, what the hell?” Harry shouted, puzzled. He looked disoriented and Ron met him with an expression of concern.

“You were unconscious or something!” Ron blurted. “I didn’t know what else to do!”

“Unconscious?” Harry questioned, wiping the water from his face with his sleeve. “I wasn’t unconscious, I just tripped and fell on the floor. When did you get in here?”

“I was outside, and I heard you fall,” Ron explained. “I tried to talk to you, and it was like you were in a trance or something. It was bloody creepy.”

“Well why don’t I remember any of that?” Harry asked with doubt present in his voice.

“I don’t know mate, but I promise I’m telling the truth… Maybe we should get you to Madame Pomfrey. You could’ve hit your head when you fell,” Ron explained slowly.

“Oh no. I’m fine,” Harry sputtered a bit too loudly. Ron looked at him suspiciously. He noticed the redness of Harry’s face. It was puffy as if he’d been crying. He could tell that something was wrong with his friend, but he just didn’t know how to help. Harry was a private person. If he went behind his back and told someone, he wasn’t sure that Harry would forgive him.

“You have been saying that you’re fine a lot lately, Harry.” Ron told him. “Are you sure that it’s true?” Ron looked Harry in the eye with concern, but Harry turned his gaze toward the floor.

“Yes. I’m sure.” Harry stated firmly.

 Ron wished that he believed him.


	13. Chapter 13

Ron and Harry sat on the bed in silence for several minutes. Every few seconds Ron would glance over at him, to make sure he was still alright. The silence was unnerving, and Ron seemed relieved when it was broken by the loud rumbling of Harry’s stomach.

“Hungry?” Ron asked teasingly, shooting Harry a grin.

“Not really,” Harry replied dully, wrapping his thin arms around his middle. He could feel the sharp outlines of his ribs rubbing against his frail hands. He absentmindedly traced the shape of his protruding bones with his fingers. He looked up just to see the smile fade from Ron’s face.

“Harry, you have to eat something. You barely ate last night, and then you skipped breakfast this morning. You’ve got to be starving!” Ron exclaimed.

“Not really,” Harry mumbled again distractedly. He didn’t need to eat, and he didn’t need someone to lecture him like a parent. Harry had never needed parental guidance before, and he didn’t need it now. He wished that Ron would just leave him alone. He needed to be alone. He deserved to be alone.

“I’ll go down to the great hall and fetch some sandwiches. Then I’ll be right back.” Ron told him, ignoring his last remark.

Harry watched Ron disappear through the doorway and sighed. Deciding that most of the students would be in the great hall, he stood and made his way toward the common room, hoping that it would be empty. He shuffled to the bottom of the staircase and was startled to see a figure appear in front of him.

Hermione stood practically bouncing in front of him holding out a jar filled with an unknown substance. Her face was red, and she seemed out of breath.

“Oh, Harry!” she greeted him with delight. “I was just coming up to get you. I brought you this,” she said thrusting the container of goo at him.

Harry frowned, confused. He didn’t understand why Hermione was so excited or what the mysterious substance was for.

Hermione noticed his puzzled expression and giggled. “It’s a salve for your scrape, Harry. I just swiped it from the hospital wing. I nearly got caught too! Who knew that breaking the rules was such a rush?” she mused with a grin. “It was just, I knew that you wouldn’t go to the hospital wing yourself, and it looked so painful. Plus, I figured you wouldn’t want to draw any attention to yourself, so I didn’t want to ask for medicine for you. Madame Pomfrey would have requested that you go to the hospital wing. I thought I would just ask for a little salve for research purposes. So I just walked in. I had this whole speech worked out about healing potions and everything, and then I noticed she was talking to Neville. It seems he tripped down the moving staircase again. No one was paying attention, so I just walked right over to the cabinet and grabbed it. Then I ran all the way here!” Hermione squealed without taking a breath.

Harry took the jar from her tentatively. “So, this will make the scrape disappear?” he asked slowly.

“Yeah. It should be instant pain relief, and it works on cuts and bruises too,” she said with a knowing stare, as if she suspected that he had other injuries. “I just thought maybe you had other scrapes from… from when you fell,” she told him, putting emphasis on the word fell.

“Uh… thanks,” Harry replied solemnly. “You really didn’t have to, but thanks, Hermione,” he said and forced a smile. He really did appreciate her effort, but frankly he just wanted everyone to stay out of his business.

Hermione’s excited face fell a bit at Harry’s lack of reaction, and she took on a more serious expression. “What Snape said to you today was awful Harry, and it wasn’t true. You know that, right?” She asked. Her warm brown eyes stared into Harry’s with compassion.

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, but inside he knew that what Snape had said had been true. He was pathetic… He was worthless. He was a freak. He felt the immediate prick of tears in his eyes and he forced himself to pull it together. Then he walked around Hermione and settled into an armchair. He unscrewed the cap on the jar and smeared the thick goo onto his cheek. He immediately felt some relief, and his skin became smooth under his fingertips. He let out a sigh of relief, now he had one less thing to worry about Snape noticing tonight.

Hermione had just opened her mouth to talk again when the portrait hole opened, and Ron walked through holding an armload of sandwiches. He staggered over to the table, and the pile fell from his arms. Most of the contents of the sandwiches fell out and Ron inspected them all. He grabbed one that looked as if it had been smashed a bit and handed it to Harry, who accepted it reluctantly.

Feeling the awkward tension in the room, Ron began telling the story of how Neville had tripped and fell down the staircase. Harry payed little attention as his friends conversed, nibbling at the edges of the bread and worrying about his detention with Snape. Just the thought of what the evening might bring was causing extreme nausea, and he had to force each bite down his throat. He finished half before setting down the remainder and looking over at Ron.

“What time is it?” Harry asked, interrupting Hermione and Ron’s pleasant conversation.

Hermione pulled out her wand and cast a spell. Bright blue numbers appeared in the air that read “6:43”.

“I need to get going. Don’t wanna be late for detention.” Harry muttered glumly. Without waiting to hear a response from his friends he climbed out of the portrait hole.

He traipsed down the hall and down several staircases before he made it to the dungeon. He could see the door to the potions classroom in the distance, and his heart rate started to quicken. He wiped his sweaty palms across the front of his robes, steeled himself, and then knocked lightly upon the door.

“Enter,” said the gruff voice of the potion’s master, and Harry complied. He took a quick glance around the dark room, recognized the figure behind the front desk, and then averted his eyes to the floor. He stood motionless in the doorway until the voice spoke again.

“Well Potter, what are you waiting for?” Snape yelled, gesturing toward the sinks where several stacks of cauldrons were piled.

Without a word, Harry scurried to the corner of the room and huddled over the dirty cauldrons. Each black cauldron was covered in grime that appeared as though it had been there for years. He inspected the outsides, noticing that many of them seemed to be permanently damaged, and wondered if Snape had purposely saved these for one of his detentions to punish him further. He decided not to dwell on that thought. Instead, he began filling the sink with warm, soapy water, and started scrubbing like his life depended on it. Harry knew that the sooner he got started, the sooner he could be out of there, and the less chance that Snape would become suspicious.

As Harry worked, he remained oblivious to the potion master, who was watching him with narrowed eyes.


	14. Chapter 14

Potter was actually working. There had been no whining, no complaining. The brat simply walked in and got to work. Severus was dumbstruck. The Potter he knew would be furious over the way he had goaded him in class this morning. That Potter would have come in with his head held high and a strong glare of defiance, whining about the unfairness of the situation. This Potter was resigned and listless. Severus didn’t like it.

The boy was scrubbing fiercely at a grimy stain on one of the cauldrons. Severus was a little perturbed that he was making so much progress. He had specifically saved some of those particularly dirty cauldrons for one of Potter’s detentions. He assumed that the boy would struggle and be stuck in the dungeons for several hours, but at the rate he was going it was possible that he would finish within the next hour. Severus’s frown deepened. He supposed that he could always make more work for the brat.

Without saying a word, Severus rose from his seat and crept over to the boy. With a swift wave of his wand, another heavy stack of messy cauldrons crashed onto the counter. At the loud noise, Potter whipped around, his arm catching on one of the pots. It flew off the counter and hurdled toward the ground. The heavy container dropped directly on Severus foot, causing him to let out an angry gasp of pain.

“POTTER,” He bellowed, his eyes blazing. “You inconsiderate brat! Watch what you’re doing! Pay attention!” Severus snapped. He was furious at the boy’s complete disregard of his surroundings. He knew that the boy hadn’t done it on purpose, but he didn’t care. The brat was getting on his last nerve.

There was an expression of pure fear on the boy’s face and Severus could see tears growing in his vibrant green eyes.

“Pathetic,” Severus simpered. “Crying, Potter, really?”

As if a switch had been pulled, Potter’s eyes narrowed, and he stood up straighter. “I’m not crying, you git!” He shouted. “I’m so sick of this shit! You set me up! You purposely get me in trouble, just so you can torture me more! WHY WON’T ANYONE JUST LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE!”

“Do. Not. Speak. To. Me. That. Way.” Severus growled softly, emphasizing each word. “You are the one who failed to do your assignment. You are the one who did not pay attention in class. You are the one who carelessly smashed my foot with a caul--“

Harry cut him off, “None of that was my fault! I couldn’t do my essay! My family--”

“Oh yes, Dumbledore informed me all about what happened to your beloved Aunt. I’m sure you were much too busy to do any work. Do not pretend you care. You do whatever you want without thinking of the consequences. Dumbledore and everyone else has allowed you to believe that you are never at fault, but they are wrong. Stop blaming others. You and I both know what you did.”

At those words, all the blood seemed to run out of Potter’s face. “You know?” he whispered shakily. “Dumbledore told you?”

            “Of course, Dumbledore told me. He told me everything.” Snape laughed humorlessly. He was surprised that his words were finally having an effect on the boy. At least the brat was paying attention to him. Severus looked him straight in the eyes and continued, “He thinks that the boy-who-lived can do no wrong. He will attempt to cover up your mistakes at every turn. He may make excuses for you, Potter, but I will not… I know what you are.”

Severus was about to keep going, but he paused when he saw the boy’s startling appearance. His head hung low toward the ground and his whole body was trembling. He didn’t speak, but soft sobs were beginning to escape from his mouth. The boy looked as though he was about to have a complete breakdown, and Severus wondered briefly if he had gone too far. No. Don’t back down now. Potter needs to hear this.

“I will not feel sorry for you, Potter. Your little act might work on Dumbledore, but it won’t work on me. You can sit there and pity yourself, but I think deep down you know.” Snape drawled slowly. “You know what you’ve done, and you know that you deserve much worse than this.” The potion master’s words hung heavy in the air. “Look at me, boy.” Snape demanded.

Obsidian eyes locked with green ones and they stared motionless at one another. Snape studied the boy’s eyes for a moment. He witnessed something deep within the vibrant emerald snap suddenly, and a feeling of unease settled over him. Then a shaky voice broke the silence in the room.

“I know.”

Severus was thrown off for a moment, but he regained his composure. “What was that, Potter?”

“I know that I deserve all of it. I deserve worse. It’s just it all happened so fast. But I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t mean it,” he whispered in a flat voice.

Severus was confused. What is the brat going on about? Surely, he’s not still talking about his essay… Then the boy’s eyes filled with tears and his face crumbled completely.

“I didn’t mean it. I swear,” Potter muttered hysterically. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it.” Fat tear drops dribbled down the boy’s cheeks and his hands shook as if he was seizing. Severus widened his eyes. The boy’s mumbling didn’t cease, it just got more difficult to understand. “Mmm sorry… so sorry. I didn’t mean to do it. But they’re dead. They’re dead… I deserve it all… Should’ve let em kill me. Wish they would’ve…. Shouldn’t be alive. I’m sorry.” He blubbered incoherently and then shrunk down to the floor. He wrapped his arms around his knees and rocked quickly back and forth.

“Potter, compose yourself.” Snape bellowed, however, the boy only seemed to get more upset. His breaths were coming in short bursts now and Severus knew if he didn’t control his breathing then he would soon pass out from a lack of oxygen.

“Mmm sorry… Mmm sorry… I didn’t mean it… should’ve died. I should be dead… I deserve it.” His words were jumbled and broken by his short gasps for air.

Severus stared in alarm at the brat, wondering if this could all be some sort of charade. “Potter!” he yelled sharply, but the boy didn’t seem to hear him. He just went on rocking and mumbling like a lunatic in a psychiatric ward.

Severus watched the scene with growing concern. He had never seen anything like this before. Potter was completely unhinged, but he didn’t understand why. The boy definitely wasn’t talking about his homework, but Severus had no idea what he could be so upset about. The potions master wasn’t sure what he could do to calm the boy before he could harm himself.

Snape sighed. “I’ll get Madame Pomfrey.”

That statement seemed to pull the boy partially out of his stupor.

“NO!” yelled the child in a heap on the cold dungeon floor. “No. No. No. No…” he repeated fearfully, still rocking quickly.

“Then calm down!” Snape yelled. He was completely at a loss of what to do. Here was a child that he hated with every fiber of his being reduced to a shaking mess of violent sobs. He tentatively reached out a hand to try and comfort the boy, but just as his fingers grazed his arm, he felt himself flying through the air.

Severus collided with the stone wall and felt his skull smash roughly onto the dungeon floor. A loud, incessant ringing blocked out all the noise around him. He sat up unsteadily, feeling a trickle of blood trail its way down his temple, and he shut his eyes in an attempt to sway the headache that was building behind his eyes. When he opened them again, his vision was cloudy, but he noticed that the distraught child was no longer on the floor. He turned his head slowly and scanned the area, but he couldn’t see Potter anywhere in the room. As the ringing in his ears began to fade out, he could barely hear the light footfalls of someone running away down the hall.

  _Damn it._ He thought.


	15. Chapter 15

The sound of Harry’s running feet thudding against the rough, stony floor echoed in the small dungeon corridor. He darted up a set of stairs and was momentarily startled when the staircase shifted underneath his trainers. He held on tightly to the banister, and his fingers turned white from his vice-like grip. When everything around him stopped moving, he noticed with annoyance that his own body was still quaking uncontrollably. He felt a bit dizzy and unsteady, and he found it difficult even to walk. Moving as quickly as possible, he hopped up the remaining stairs and found himself on the second floor of the castle. He wasn’t sure where he should go. He supposed that it didn’t really matter where he went. His life was over now anyway

 _Snape knows. Snape knows that I’m a murderer, and Dumbledore knows too. There is no debating it now. They know, and it’s only a matter of time before everyone else does too._ He would get kicked out of school. His wand would probably be snapped. They’d throw him in Azkaban for sure, and the dementors would suck out his soul.

Harry was running down the short hall, past paintings and suits of armor, when he spotted a familiar door that made him pause in his tracks. Without thinking, he pushed it open and then pulled it shut behind him. Everything looked just as it had during the previous year. He saw a row of stalls along the back wall, and a group of sinks arranged in a circle. The room smelled musty and old, as if it hadn’t been cleaned in years, and a thick layer of dust covered the floor. No one would look for him here. No one ever came to the abandoned girl’s restroom.

He saw no sign of Myrtle, for which he was grateful. If she had been here, he would have had to listen to her screeching. He didn’t know if he could deal with the blubbering ghoul, especially since he too was still crying. He felt the tears dribbling down his face and swept his sleeve across his eyes to dry them. _Stupid tears. I’m so stupid. Everything is so fucked up!_ He swung out his fist in anger and made contact with the sturdy, stone wall. Immediately, he felt a rush of pain as it coursed through his knuckle and made its way up his arm, and he cried out in anguish. His head spun, and he fell to his knees, promptly expelling the contents of his stomach across the stone floor. The bile stung the back of his throat, and he felt another group of tears gathering in his eyes. He laid there for a moment, pondering his options. He had nowhere to run. He had nowhere to hide. He was done.

He shut his eyes, letting the blackness surround him like a consoling blanket. His tears stopped flowing freely, and in the darkness, he felt numb. Compared to the storm of emotion that he had been experiencing, he preferred the emptiness that the new feeling provided him with. He opened his eyes briefly, blinking away at the harsh, bright lights that flooded his vision, and that was when a familiar serpent insignia on the sink caught his eye.

He supposed he could escape into the chamber. After all, he was the only one capable of opening it. In the chamber, he would be alone, and without resources such as food and water, he would eventually wither away to nothing. He could sleep down there; just let the numbness take him and float freely in the pitch blackness for eternity. It was definitely superior to the alternative. He clambered to his feet, ignoring the blinding headache that materialized behind his eyes.

Suddenly, he felt another rush of dizziness sweep over him and black spots clouded his vision. He reached out a hand to grab the sink, but he lost consciousness before he hit the floor.

* * *

 Severus rushed down the hallway, his hand still pressed firmly against his forehead to staunch the trickle of blood that threatened to run down his temple. When he had finally been able to haul himself off of the floor, he had downed a particularly strong headache potion from his private stores and set off down the hall, leaving his classroom in disarray.

It had only been a few minutes since the child had dashed away through the dungeons, but now there were no signs of him anywhere. He considered alerting Dumbledore or the other heads of houses, but he quickly disregarded that idea, knowing that he would probably be blamed for the situation and Potter would receive even more sympathy. He turned another corner and opened an unlocked closet, hoping to see the boy huddled in a dark corner, hiding, but it was empty. Severus wandered up and down the remaining dungeon corridors before he noticed an alert looking painting near the staircase, whose occupant was waving madly at him. Intrigued, Severus approached the figure, a portly man wearing armor and riding on a magnificent white horse.

“Professor,” the man in the painting greeted cordially in a thick English accent. “It seems like you’re looking for something,” he drawled, chuckling.

“Yes,” Severus responded, slightly irritated. This was the third time he’d passed by this particular painting, and it was only then that he had decided to speak up. “Have you seen the boy?” Severus demanded, flinging his hands up in anger.

“I may have,” the man said with a smirk. “Saw someone run up the stairs to the second floor several minutes ago. Looked like he was running from something. Or, perhaps, someone?” The man prodded, desperate to hear some gossip.

Without uttering a response to the man, Severus hurried up the staircase and then turned to another painting. This one contained a woman, who instead of wasting any time by speaking, simply pointed to the left. The potion master swiftly followed her directions.

He strode through the empty corridor, his eyes scanning the walls of the castle. He had only passed two doorways before he reached a dead end, so he presumed that Potter had taken refuge in one of the rooms. He tried the first door, an unused classroom, and wasn’t surprised to find it locked with complex charms he knew the boy had no chance of breaking. When he saw the next door, and the placard that hung above it which declared it the “Girls Lavatory”, he swore under his breath.

He remembered the events of the last year quite clearly, and he knew that the entrance to the chamber of secrets was located inside. If the boy had sealed himself inside the chamber, even Dumbledore would have a hard time reaching him. Severus pushed the door open with a hesitant hand, and then paused in shock at the sight before him.

Potter lay sprawled across the floor on his stomach with a mound of vomit strewn around him. The pungent smell wafted over to him and he wrinkled his hooked nose in disgust, expelling the waste with a wave of his wand. The boy’s head was turned toward him, and Severus saw the tear tracks and redness still visible on his face. In the pathetic, crumpled heap, the boy appeared much smaller than Severus remembered him being, and he was suddenly struck by how young the child actually was.

“Potter,” he called, not at all surprised that his words did not prompt a response. He dropped to his knees beside the boy, flipping him over and prodding him gently with his hand. He felt relieved when he noticed the shallow breaths emitting from his mouth. He decided that it would be easiest to take the unconscious child to Madam Pomfrey, so he slid his arms underneath the small body and lifted the boy into his arms.

He was appalled by how light the thirteen-year-old was. The boy was a mass of skin and bones. His robes hung loosely off of his small frame, disguising the frail skeleton that lay underneath. Up close, Severus could see the hollow cheek bones and the dark purple stains beneath his eyes. The boy felt cold, like a body fresh from the grave. If he hadn’t seen the slight rise and fall of his chest, he would have thought that the child was dead.

He heard a muffled groan. Then Potter started to stir in his arms, and Severus gently placed him back on the ground, knowing that the boy would most likely be opposed to being held by his most-hated-professor. Then, the dull eyes slowly drifted open. The green orbs locked on Severus, but the fear that was present in them previously had disappeared. The boy’s face was completely blank, and he stared blindly around the room, blinking periodically.

“Potter?” Severus questioned, feeling uneasy about the boy’s vacant expression.

“Yes, Professor?” he replied coldly.

Severus didn’t know what to say to the child. The boy stared at him as if he was being led to the slaughter, but what disturbed Severus even more was that it didn’t look like Potter cared. It was as if the boy had accepted some terrible fate and had decided not to fight it. Severus stared into the familiar dead eyes and decided not to ask if he was okay; he was obviously not. Instead, he decided to go straight for what he really wanted to know.

“What is wrong, Potter?”

The boy wasted no time before he responded, “you already know.”

“Do not be cryptic. Explain yourself.” He demanded.

“You want me to say it, sir?” Potter said evenly, and then continued, “Dumbledore already told you.  You know everything.”

Severus didn’t respond to the boy’s question. Instead, he stared at him calculatingly, scrutinizing his odd behavior. He was perplexed by the mysterious words. Dumbledore had given him no explanation to why the boy would act like a complete lunatic. His behavior had been erratic ever since he had returned from the summer break, but Severus wasn’t aware of any reason for it. He decided to challenge the boy’s harsh stare, and gazed directly into his eyes, hoping to intimidate him. After a moment of tense silence, the boy uttered a sentence that completely surprised the man.

“I am a murderer.”

Severus scoffed at the child in confusion, perplexed that his confession seemed genuine. But that was absurd. Potter was no murderer. A brat? Yes. But not a miniature Dark Lord in the making. He chose his next words very carefully. “What exactly do you mean by that, Potter?”

“My Aunt Marge, Professor. Dumbledore told you what happened.” the boy replied matter-of-factly, a flicker of sadness breaking through his emotionless mask.

“You're telling me that you were the one to kill your aunt?”

The boy offered a small nod.

“You genuinely believe that?” Severus added incredulously.

When the boy nodded for the second time, a slight smirk appeared on the potion master's face.

“How did this _murder_ transpire?”

“I didn't mean to kill her.” he paused for a moment. “Or maybe deep down I did for a second. Everything was so out of control. She was saying terrible things to me, and I just snapped. And then I looked over at her and she was…. dead.”

The little brat actually thought he had killed his aunt with a burst of accidental magic. That's stupid even for Potter! “Potter, your muggle aunt died of a heart attack.” Severus stated plainly.

The boy seemed paler than he had a moment before, as if he had made some terrible mistake, but then he straightened once again and continued. “No. That is the story that Dumbledore made up. He's covering for me, but I'm not sure why.”

“I assure you that no matter how special and important that you think you are, Dumbledore would never cover up a murder for you.”

“I told you, I don’t know why he did it,” Harry said slowly. “But he did. I killed her, and then he made it seem like she had a heart attack.”

Severus laughed mirthlessly at the boy, shaking his head. “You idiot child. You had nothing to do with your aunt’s death. You did not kill her. There was no massive cover up. Dumbledore is not scheming to put together some elaborate plot for you. It was not your fault.”

Harry only seemed more determined to prove him wrong. “I am a murderer, professor. It was my fault. Soon everyone will figure that out, and the ministry will throw me in Azkaban with the dementors like I deserve.” At those words, the boy’s breathing quickened again, and he shook slightly.

Worried that the child would break down into hysterics again, Severus calmly tried to reassure him. “No, Potter,” he said firmly. “Listen to me very carefully. You did not murder anyone. Professor Dumbledore explained to me that your aunt had died from a heart attack. He only found out about the situation from a squib that lives in your neighborhood. He never went to your home, so no one could have tampered with her body.”

A small amount of relief showed on the boy’s face, but he remained serious. “I didn’t kill her?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.

“No.” Severus replied. He was astonished that the boy had gotten so worked up over that situation. How in Merlin’s name had he gotten the idea that he was responsible for her death. It made absolutely no sense. In the back of his mind, events of the past few hours replayed, and pieces started to fall into place. Potter had been jumpy because he believed he was going to prison. Potter had been in hysterics because he thought Severus would turn him in to the ministry. But then he remembered one thing that the boy had said that did not fit with the newly acquired information.

“Potter, what did you mean when you said that you should have let them kill you?”


	16. Chapter 16

_“Potter, what did you mean when you said that you should have let them kill you?”_

Snape’s words hung heavy in the air as Harry struggled to come up with an explanation. How could he explain. He didn’t even remember saying those words to the man. The numb feeling in his chest dissipated slightly, and he felt panic taking over once again.

“I… uhh… What?” Harry sputtered.

“Eloquent as always, Mr. Potter.” Snape drawled.

Harry fought to maintain his composure. He let himself settle back into the hollow feeling in his chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.” He said, feeling slightly proud that he was able to form a complete sentence that time.

“Earlier, during your pathetic breakdown, you were rocking back in forth mumbling that you should have let them kill you. Explain yourself,” Snape demanded, rolling his eyes.

“You must have misheard me,” Harry replied evenly, his eyes staring straight through the Professor.

Snape glared at him, and then continued. “I don’t think so, Potter. Now. Explain. Yourself,” he hissed dangerously.

“I’m sorry, Professor. But I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harry said in a perplexed tone.

He nodded slowly, seeming irritated. The man didn’t appear to believe his excuse, but he didn’t press the issue any further. “It is past curfew, I suggest you go to Madame Pomfrey for a calming draught if you need one, and then go to your dormitory.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry replied calmly, turning away to leave.

“Don’t think I will forget the events that have occurred tonight, Mr. Potter,” Harry heard Snape say just before he exited the bathroom and plodded down the hall.

In the night, the castle’s candlelit halls looked ominous, but Harry didn’t mind. He found himself growing more and more comfortable in the darkness. It reminded him of the void: that calming, numb feeling that made him forget all of the bad things that had ever happened to him. It was as if they never existed; it was as if he never existed.

He enjoyed the emptiness, and he found it odd that he could feel that sense of satisfaction from the numbness while simultaneously feeling nothing at all. It was almost like being asleep, only without the nightmares that plagued his subconscious as he rested. It reminded him of being locked away in his cupboard. In the quiet of the night, trapped in darkness, he could neither see nor hear a thing, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could pretend that he wasn’t even there.

It wasn’t only the emptiness that encapsulated his mind that he enjoyed. He got a similar sense of bliss from the emptiness in his stomach. Before this year, he had been ravenous upon his return to Hogwarts, taking in as much food as he thought his stomach could hold. But now the ache in his stomach was more satisfying than anything he could ever consume.

After his conversation with Snape, he thought he would feel some relief. After all, it turned out he hadn’t killed Marge; at least not directly. Sure, she had died from a heart attack resulting from a stressful situation that Harry had created, but at least he hadn’t Avra Kedavrad her with his mind or some shit as he’d originally thought. He was still a murderer though. He’d definitely blew a man’s brains out in an alleyway, and he didn’t think there was any way to get around that. Not to mention first year with Quirrell. He had almost forgotten about his first murder, although he didn’t remember anything after the first shot of burning pain that had ripped through his body, so he supposed he at least wouldn’t have to relive another person’s death. He knew he’d never forget that man’s or even Marge’s.

He wondered if the Dursley’s would forget; he doubted it. It was unlikely that he’d be able to stay with them again for the summer; not that he wanted to. They knew what had really happened, and they would never let him set foot in there without attempting to punish him. It was slightly unnerving to him that everything the Dursleys had ever accused him of being had actually came true. He could remember flashes of his childhood filled with harsh glances, swift fists, and screaming voices that proclaimed him as evil, as a freak, as worthless. When he was young, he’d never thought they would be right.

Harry wandered aimlessly through the halls, feeling slightly surprised when he ended up at the portrait hole of Gryffindor tower anyway. He hadn’t been paying any attention to the direction that he’d been moving, and he still managed to go exactly where he least wanted to be. Now he’d be forced to enter a dormitory full of people. He’d have to lay down and sleep; he’d probably have nightmares. He didn’t want Ron or Hermione to ask him about his detention. He decided that he’d lie if they did. It was none of their business anyway.

He pushed open the door to his dormitory and noticed the scrapes on his knuckles. He’d almost forgotten about his fist fight with the stone wall. He saw traces of purple bruises already forming around the dried blood. It looked grotesque, but he didn’t really mind. He tiptoed over to his bed, noticing a slight throb in his ankle again. He’d already used the healing charm three times that day, and it seemed to be wearing off quicker each time he cast it. He wondered if it would eventually be completely ineffective. He supposed it didn’t matter. In the void, he barely felt pain anyway.

* * *

 “I think you’re making a mistake, Headmaster.” Severus replied grimly. A stray lock of his lanky obsidian hair slipped into his periphery and he brushed it away with his hand, never breaking eye contact with the man. “Something is wrong with him,” he tried to explain, but to no avail.

“Nonsense, Severus.” Professor Dumbledore offered jovially. “I expected this behavior. Young Harry is simply experiencing the gut-wrenching process of grief. It effects people in mysterious ways.”

“This is different.” He said gravely. After seeing the boy last night, Severus was concerned. Never before had he seen a child act so strangely. He’d experienced a serious panic attack, not to mention the troubling thoughts that were running through his mind. Harry Potter was in need of some serious help.

In the days following Potter’s detention, Severus had been conflicted over what actions he should take. He’d spent the night of the ordeal pacing in his Potion’s classroom, searching for an answer to his dilemma. He knew some action needed to be taken, but it wasn’t his place to do anything. After all, the boy was not his responsibility. But it seemed as though everyone around him was acting completely nonchalant about the welfare of the children in their care. _First the child from Diagon Alley, and now Potter. I’m starting to sound like Molly Weasley._

Speaking of the strange child, Severus had finally given up searching for the mysterious boy. He supposed that after over two weeks of no sightings or new information on the child, he had no real way to intervene. And besides, he had more pressing matters to attend to. He had actually made an oath to protect Harry Potter, and he supposed he should only spend time protecting one troublesome child at a time.

He was a little ashamed to admit that he was actually worried about the brat; he would never admit that. The pure terror in the boy’s eyes didn’t trouble him nearly as much as the vacant look he’d seen thereafter. Not to mention the cryptic statements that he’d made concerning himself.

“Albus, the boy believed wholeheartedly that he was responsible for that woman’s death. He has been walking around looking half dead for over a week. I never see him eating. He’s falling behind in his classes. He barely remains awake in my classroom long enough to keep from scalding himself on his cauldron!” Severus continued, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “You’re really not going to do anything about this?”

“Well, you have been spending an inordinate amount of time watching Mr. Potter lately, haven’t you, Severus?” The old man said with a bit of mirth visible in his eyes. “It seems to me that you have the situation under control. I’m sure Harry will be just fine. Give him time.”

So, Severus did. He continued to watch the boy from afar, but he told himself that he wouldn’t intervene. _If Dumbledore insists that the boy be left to his own devices, then Dumbledore can deal with the consequences._ He didn’t interact with Potter at all. He didn’t speak to him during class. He didn’t take points. He didn’t assign detention. But he continued to watch.

Up at the staff table, Severus sat snarling, scooping small spoonfuls of oatmeal into his mouth. The other professors were gossiping again, and their words did not escape him. He knew immediately who they spoke about.

“He’s doing awful in my class as well,” Pomona proclaimed sadly. “He didn’t have any of his Summer homework done, and then he was completely zoned out through the entire class.”

“It’s never been his best subject, but he’s always done so well in Charms,” exclaimed Filius, taking a bite of a piece of toast, smothered in butter. “He didn’t complete any of the homework I assigned either, and when we practiced cheering charms, he wasn’t able to complete one successfully!”

“How has he been in Defense?” Minerva leaned across the table and asked Lupin with a raised eyebrow.

“He’s been okay,” the wolf said uneasily. “He did seem a little withdrawn though.”

“Perhaps, instead of sitting up here gossiping like schoolgirls, you should actually do something.” Severus growled.

“I’ve assigned him detention for his missing assignments.” Minerva replied looking irritated by his outburst.

“And I’m sure that’s really fixed the problem.” He snapped back sarcastically.

 At that moment, Severus was momentarily startled when the pathetic looking wraith stumbled into the Great Hall and slumped down at the end of the Gryffindor table. He did not have his normal group of loyal, Gryffindor followers around him. He sat by himself, staring off into space and barely nibbling on a dry piece of toast.

“I’ve also informed him that he is required to attend meals in the Great Hall with the other students.” Minerva told Severus after seeing his surprised expression.

He nods, approving of that policy, but he wished she would have required the boy to actually eat as well.

“Why wasn’t he attending meals?” asked Lupin curiously. He appeared genuinely concerned, and Severus felt irritated.

“I don’t know anything for certain,” Minerva started slowly. “But I have heard some rumors that some of the other students are teasing him about his recent behavior.”

“With the dementors on the train?” asked Lupin.

“I believe so,” she told him solemnly.

After that, the Potion’s Master blocked out their voices again and returned to his food, still peering up every couple of minutes to check on Potter.

He thought back to yesterday’s Potion class, visualizing the messy black-haired youth who appeared to be on the edge of collapsing. Potter had barely made it into class before the start of the lesson, slouching in his chair and looking lost. He seemed to put in even less effort into his potion than usual, and his work was even worse than Longbottom’s. That did not surprise him though, as Ms. Granger had to continually alert him to the directions and keep him moving. Severus believed that without her guidance the boy would have spent the entire period staring at the wall or passed out on his desk. He didn’t think that the boy was receiving enough sleep, but that isn’t what troubled him most. It was the hollow eyes and the listless expression that lingered on the boy’s face that worried him.

Severus saw the signs of lack of sleep and nutrition. They were hard to miss. The boy was a skeleton and the dark purple bags under his eyes stood out starkly in contrast to his ghostly pale skin. He remembered how light the boy had been when he’d lifted him. He’d been disgusted by the boy’s protruding rib bones that he felt through his robes.

 _Maybe Potter has an eating disorder._ He supposed that was a possibility. After all, it explained his appearance and his lack of energy. His objection to visit the hospital wing was likely to cover up his problem. Madame Pomfrey would have been able to see the signs immediately. _Perhaps that’s part of the reason why he threw such a fit?_ Severus was unsure, but he turned to Minerva anyway, not bothering to indicate who he was talking about.

“Keep an eye on him.”


	17. Chapter 17

Harry gazed blankly around the Great Hall, mindlessly picking at the crisp, crumbly piece of toast in his hand. For the most part, the piece of toasted bread was torn into small pieces that were dropped carelessly onto his plate or scattered on the floor, but he made sure that a few bites actually made it into his mouth to appease the eyes that he knew were on him. They expected him to eat, and he had to keep up appearances after all. He had to put in just enough effort so that no one would ever intervene.

It had been a close call with Snape, but thankfully, the man didn’t seem to be looking into the incident any further. He hadn’t done as much as speak to Harry since their awkward encounter over three weeks ago. Harry could still tell that Snape watched him though. Snape’s dark eyes were often locked on him during class, but he didn’t take any action. Harry had taken to basically zoning out for the majority of the class period, and the man hadn’t even mentioned his abysmal potions, taken points, or given him any detentions. He was grateful for Snape’s lack of action, but he still didn’t like anyone watching him.

He knew that they were watching him now. He could feel their eyes on him, searching for the slightest reason to yank him out of the hall and demand an explanation for his behavior; not that he would ever give them one. Just last week, McGonagall had asked to meet with him after class, insisting that he stay and chat with her for a bit. He hadn’t wanted to, but her sharp eyes had made it clear that it was not actually his choice. So, after class he’d drifted to the front of the classroom and slid into the chair opposite the professor.

Immediately, she had begun asking about his Summer, wanting to know how he’d been feeling, how the Dursley’s were treating him, how he’d been settling in this year, to all of which he’d answered “fine.” She hadn’t seemed appeased by his short, reserved answers, and as the questioning went on, her tone had become increasingly severe until she was practically interrogating the small boy in front of her. At one point, she’d yelled at him, berating him for his lack of attention in her class, and even assigning a week of detention. Then, appearing to be slightly mollified by her outburst, she’d insisted that he begin attending meals in the great hall again, claiming that it was a rule of the school that he was expected to obey from now on. She had offered him a warm smile and then suggested that she “would be happy to listen to anything that might be bothering him that he wanted to talk about.” He wasn’t fazed by her new behavior, he simply kept his calm composure, insisted that everything was fine, and agreed to abide by her new conditions.

So, here he was, at breakfast. He sat at the very last Gryffindor table, nearest to the door, where he could easily slip in and out as soon as he’d spent enough time there to be considered present for mealtime. The table was completely empty, so he was able to sit and pick at his meal undisturbed. He could still hear the whispers though; they followed him. The other students were very interested in the boy-who-lived’s new attitude and behavior. Once again, he was the school’s most popular topic of gossip.

He hated being around all of them. Hundreds of small bodies were packed into the hall, and they made him uneasy. Occasionally, he would bump into another person in the corridors. It was as if tendrils would shoot out from within and seize him from the void. They’d coil around his arms, and drag him from the peaceful, dark place in his mind. Then, through the haze, flashes of his past would attack him. He’d feel the rough grimy claws of the deceased drunken man instead of the innocent hand of a first year who’d accidently fallen into him. Whenever he was touched, Harry would disappear inconspicuously from the crowd and work to gain back his composure. That’s why the empty table provided him with a slight sensation of relief.

He sat alone for several minutes before two familiar figures drifted in and plopped down at his table. Ron slunk down across from him with his elbows resting on the table, shoveling a conglomerated mess of eggs, sausage, potatoes, and gravy into his mouth. Hermione sat beside him, taking small, methodical bites of her breakfast and shifting between sending disgusted glances at Ron and worried looks toward Harry. They had finally stopped asking him if he was alright though.

The past week had been a constant stream of questions from the two Gryffindors. Harry had gotten so sick of the phrase: “are you okay?” It ranked right up there with “you look unwell,” “you should eat something,” and “you can talk to us, Harry.” The questions and constant worried expressions followed him wherever he went, no matter how much he tried to assuage them. His friends were always hovering over him, always asking, always watching. They didn’t even feel like friends anymore. They were like strangers who were taking pity on him. Why couldn’t they just understand that he only wanted to be left alone. Even with them there, he felt alone. At some point, he’d stopped talking to either of them at all. They had pretty much stopped talking to him too, but he didn’t really mind. He wasn’t listening much anymore.

The void took up all his attention. He was constantly floating in his own little world that consisted of only darkness. Harry was a ghost, haunting the castle. The cold, lingering feeling consumed him. He drifted through the halls with unenergized grace, sweeping to and from the places he was supposed to be without even willing himself to move. Like a machine on auto-pilot, he did what was expected of him. He went to class. He went to the great hall for meals. He went to sleep.  He was existing in an apathetic state of listlessness.

Harry was in his dorm now, and it was night. He couldn’t recall leaving the great hall, nor going to his classes and traveling to Gryffindor tower, but it wasn’t uncommon for him to lose track of time anymore. Each day was a blur. He paid so little attention to his surroundings that when a bit of clarity entered his head, he was momentarily startled. It wasn’t that he couldn’t be responsive, he just chose not to be; it was easier that way.

It was only his nightmares that yanked him out of his stupor. Every night, he was plagued with horrifying, vivid visions of his past that always left him shaken and eager to escape the confines of his dormitory. Once he had awoken, it was nearly impossible for him to fall back asleep. During the last week, he had taken to sneaking out of the castle after dark when he woke up. He would don his invisibility cloak, light his wand, sneak through the halls and out the front door, and then mindlessly wander the grounds. The fresh, crisp air helped to clear his head, and gave him time to think.

Harry crept through the darkness until he reached the lake, and then he plopped down near the shore. He gazed out across the water, mesmerized by the ripples on the lake that were illuminated by the moon. He pulled a blank piece of parchment from his bag and sketched a brief outline of the scene in front of him. Harry wasn’t much of an artist, and he ended up with a messy myriad of jagged lines. He gave up on his drawing and flipped the parchment over, contemplating what he could do next.

He took one last look around his surroundings, and then, hesitantly, Harry began to write. He had always enjoyed muggle poetry; he loved the way that the words could so accurately encapsulate a moment or emotion. He scrawled out line after line, feeling a little surprised by how easily the words flowed from his hand. When he finished the first page, he read over what he had written.

_I walk the same path every night._

_Across the grounds and around the lake._

_I stare into the water and view my reflection._

_A distorted face stares back._

_It isn’t me._

_I walk the same path._

_Each night my expression becomes grimmer._

_The light in my eyes becomes dimmer._

_The weight on my body grows lighter._

_The weight on my shoulders grows heavier._

_How many more nights can I continue to walk that path?_

He knew it wasn’t a great poem; after all, he had never even attempted to write one before, but he knew that the words had their intended affect. He felt powerless. He felt like he had no control over his existence. He felt that, each day, more and more of life was drained out of him. It was as if he was living a nightmare that was impossible to wake up from. His own movements no longer felt like his own. Nothing really made him happy anymore. Every single action was a struggle, and he was so tired. He wondered if eventually he would simply collapse and cease to exist.

_What would it be like if I died?_ He thinks to himself. _Would anyone even notice that I was gone? Maybe…. But they wouldn’t miss me, not really. Would people cry?_ He wondered. He thought for a moment. _Maybe a few, but they wouldn’t really be crying for me. They never even knew the real me; I’m just a figment of their imagination, a boy that they’ve created within their own heads. No one knows me._


	18. Chapter 18

Lucius Malfoy’s study continued to baffle Severus. He looked around the room and held back a grimace. The Malfoy house was the epitome of the word ostentatious with the rich colors, extravagant fabrics, and artistic masterpieces that donned the walls. Severus grew increasingly irritated each time he had to visit the place, as it was so completely unnecessary. People like the Malfoys thought they were better simply because they could afford things like that. Things that they didn’t need or sometimes even want. They purchased countless priceless objects to show off their wealth. As a spy, it was his job to tolerate it though, and Lucius was his longtime acquaintance.

This evening, Lord Malfoy had his house elves toiling away decorating the table with fancy finger foods and beverages for his visit, even though Severus could never remember eating food during any of the many meetings that they had shared. Severus grabbed a small cup of tea from the table and sank down in an oversized armchair donned with ornate, golden swirls.

“So, tell me, is Draco still doing well in class?” Lucius asked with a raised eyebrow, pouring himself a bit of tea from a golden pitcher, which Severus guessed was probably solid gold.

“Oh, yes. Of course. Draco appears to be miles ahead of the other third years. He’s one of the only competent children in his class.” Severus reassured the man. He would never tell Lucius, but he had always disliked Draco. The spoiled child ran around with a giant attitude problem and a sense of entitlement that rivalled the great James Potter. Severus had to admit he was slightly gifted at Potions, but not exceptionally so.

“Good, good…” He trailed off. “So, the main reason I’ve asked you here today, is that I haven’t been able to get in touch with Dolohov. You haven’t heard anything from Dumbledore about him, have you?”

“No. Dumbledore hasn’t said anything about Dolo--”

Lucius cut him off. “Damn. I really need to get in touch with him. I thought you would be able to help me, Severus.”

“You did not let me finish,” Severus drawled slowly. “Dumbledore knows nothing, but I know where Dolohov is.”

A wide smile erupted on Lord Malfoy’s face, presenting Severus with a flash of his perfect, white teeth. “Severus, you continue to surprise me. Where has Antonin gotten off to?”

“He’s dead.”

“Excuse me?” Lucius gaped.

“He was killed by a muggleborn child about a month ago.”

“Please explain,” he replied, looking intrigued.

“From what I could ascertain, he attacked the boy, and the boy fought back. He shot through his brain with a pistol. Then the child fled the scene.”

“A pistol?”

“It’s a muggle weapon,” Severus explained.

“And how do you know all of this?” Lucius questioned, hanging on Severus’s every word.

“I had seen the child in the apothecary. He was young, alone, and disheveled looking. I approached him, and he fled from the store, stealing some potions.” Severus paused, and Lucius nodded slowly. “I attempted to track him down, but I was unsuccessful. Then I heard the gun fire and I found Antonin’s body. Most of his face was detached, and I knew he was dead, so I banished the body to the usual spot. I knew it wouldn’t be wise to leave him lying around, especially since his dark mark was still visible. We wouldn’t want to place his family under suspicion.” He trailed off and then continued when Lucius nodded. “I found some empty potion containers at the scene from the child.”

“And the boy?” Lucius asked, captivated by the story.

“I haven’t been able to find any trace of him. I thought perhaps he would be coming to Hogwarts at the start of term; he looked to be about the age of a first-year student, but I haven’t seen him.”

“And you’re sure he survived?”

“I believe so,” Severus answered dryly.

“It seems peculiar that a child that young would be able to escape an accomplished wizard.” Lucius said skeptically.

“Well, you underestimate the power of muggle weapons.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Lucius seemed to be ruminating on the new information, and Severus took a small sip of his tea to hide his smirk. It was only when he had useful information that Lucius gave him the time of day. It wasn’t often that someone knew something that Lord Malfoy did not.

Finally, Lucius spoke. “So, what do you plan to do about the boy?”

Severus stared at him for a moment, perplexed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we can’t let the murder of one of our own go unpunished, Severus. Though the Dark Lord is not present, we both know he would never allow that mudblood child to take the life of a pureblood without consequences.”

“We don’t know for sure that the child is muggleborn. I only assumed so because of his muggle clothes. He could be a half-blood or even a pureblood who is familiar with muggle culture.”

“Calm down, Severus. I’m not saying we should kill him, but something should be done. He has taken the life of a powerful death eater, we deserve compensation. Besides, if the boy has already killed, he’s obviously cunning, and he may make a promising addition to the Dark Lord’s army one day.” Lucius flashed a wistful grin and Severus stifled a grimace.

“Why don’t you describe him closely to me, and I’ll search around for magical children that fit his description.”

Severus regretted telling Lucius about the boy. He had thought that maybe his exciting information would prompt Lord Malfoy to expose an even darker secret; Albus had been trying to get new death eater information for months. But it appeared as though his plan had failed.

 He pondered his options for a moment. He could lie about the boy’s appearance, ensuring that the child would be safe from death eater intervention, but he was still very interested in finding the boy. He decided that if Lucius were able to find the child, he could inform Albus and ensure his protection.

“He appeared to be around ten or eleven with short brown hair and dark brown eyes. He was around five feet tall and seemed to be extremely underweight. He wore average muggle attire,” Severus explained.

“Is that all you remember?” Lucius questioned.

“He had a noticeable limp and many fresh bruises around his neck. He was skittish when he noticed my presence, and based on his behavior, I would guess that he has been exposed to long term abuse or trauma.”

“I see... Well, I’ll do some searches at the ministry, and I’ll alert you if I find any matches.”

When Severus didn’t respond, Lucius reached over and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Severus, we’ll find him.”

* * *

 Harry was sitting silently in his seat, gazing around the room blankly, when he heard it.

            “Father said it was a muggle weapon. Blew his head clean off his body.” Malfoy whispered.

            Harry’s head perked up, and he was instantly alert. A few students were huddled around Draco, listening intently. Malfoy was talking about the man from the alley, the man that he’d killed.

            “I didn’t know muggles could do that sort of thing,” another voice whispered back with incredulity. Harry wasn’t sure who said it, but he assumed it was Crabbe or Goyle. Their deep, growly voices sounded nearly identical to him.

            “I didn’t know either, but Father says that they have all kinds of dangerous weapons like that. They’re not nearly as powerful as curses or anything, but it would still be nice to get something like that. It’d be untraceable, and no one would even see it coming!”  Malfoy told them.

            “I bet it wouldn’t be too hard to get one.” A low voice mumbled.

            “And guess who it killed?” Malfoy hissed, turning to look individually at each member of the group for dramatic effect. When he had their attention, he continued. “Antonin Dolohov.”

            “But how? He’s one of the most powerful death eaters!” exclaimed a Slytherin boy who Harry had never learned the name of.

            “The muggle gadget must have surprised him.” Said Malfoy.

            Then another voice interrupted. “Did your father say who did it?” asked Pansy Parkinson. She fumbled with a bit of her hair, twirling it around her finger and doing her best to look captivated by the conversation.

            “No, he doesn’t know,” Draco paused. “yet.”

            Harry gulped and sunk down lower in his chair. His alertness had returned to him and he felt fully awake for the first time in weeks. Fear overtook him. His heart pounded quickly in his chest, and his hands grew clammy with a light layer of perspiration. Lucius Malfoy was looking for him.

            At that moment, Hermione and Ron traipsed through the door and sat down at his table. They both offered him terse nods and then took out their materials for class. They didn’t seem fazed by his panicked expression, but Harry supposed they were used to it by now.

            Panicked breaths escaped from his mouth in quick, short gasps as he struggled to maintain his composure. He reminded himself that no one knew what he’d done, and therefore he was safe for now, but he had trouble convincing his body. His hands shook slightly, and he buried them between his knees, under the table.

            When Snape walked in a few minutes later, Harry forced himself to watch the man to try and occupy his racing mind. He knew that if he had another panic attack in front of the man, he’d be sure to take him to Madame Pomfrey. Even the greasy dungeon bat wouldn’t be allowed to ignore such obvious signs that something was amiss; or would he? Harry wasn’t sure.

He watched as Snape strode over to the board and scrawled the directions for today’s potion in precise, cursive writing. With spastic, darting eyes, Harry attempted to read over the steps. His eyes ran over the gently-flowing cursive letters until they appeared jumbled and blurry, as if they were just white smudges, all floating together in a sea of blackness. He pulled his cauldron on to the lit flame, and started throwing in ingredients, one by one. He wasn’t even sure if he was adding the right materials. He just needed to keep busy. He couldn’t panic. He just needed to work. Work had always been good at distracting him. Even at the Dursley’s when he’d been young, scrubbing dishes or vacuuming the floors had provided him with a soothing sense of comfort. But right now, it wasn’t working.

He peered up to peek at the directions again, but he found that the words on the board no longer resembled anything comprehensible. In fact, he couldn’t even discern the black chalkboard from the gray, stone walls anymore. Dark spots clouded the edge of his vision, and he finally realized that he wasn’t breathing.

The lack of oxygen was affecting his motor control, and he dropped his stirring rod, with a loud clang, as he struggled to suck in a breath. He breathed in deeply, but it wasn’t working. It seemed as though his lungs were only filling with sand. Why can’t I breathe? I need to breathe… HOW CAN I BREATHE? LUCIUS BLOODY MALFOY IS LOOKING FOR ME!

Hermione’s soft hand gently touched his shoulder, and Harry could see his friend speaking, but he couldn’t make out any of her words. Her bright eyes were wide and terrified looking, and she seemed to be shouting to someone near the front of the room. He knew he was making a scene. He was going to be in trouble. He needed to get away.

Harry whirled around, ready to shoot out the door, but he felt terribly off balance. He took in the blurry confused faces of his classmates as he stumbled sideways. The steam from his bubbling cauldron seemed to be getting warmer and warmer. Harry tried to steady himself, but he found himself toppling to the right. He hit against the side of the burning cauldron, sending it flying out in front of him. The liquid inside splattered against the floor, creating a steaming mess of bright green goop. The last thing that Harry registered before he crumpled to the cool floor was the sound of heavy footsteps rushing toward him.

Then all he knew was blackness.


	19. Chapter 19

Potter was falling. Literally and figuratively. Severus could see the unsteadiness in his stance, in the way his eyes darted about the room. He could see it in the boy’s body, the way he shook and tottered precariously to the side. He saw it in the quick gasps that escaped from his mouth, as if he was drowning and unable to reach the air. Severus saw it all, even before the boy crashed into the cauldron and Granger’s worried shouts echoed throughout the room.

When the boy’s body thudded against the floor, Severus did not waste any time before taking action. All the students had turned to watch the scene, rising from their seats and peering down at their classmate, some in worry, and others with amusement. Granger and Weasley were crouched beside him, shaking his shoulders. The know-it-all girl had her right hand to his wrist, fumbling to find a pulse. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she yelled out the boy’s name. Severus waved his wand and cleared all of the cauldrons in the room, and then strode toward the unconscious child.

“EVERYONE OUT!” He bellowed.

Several students moved from their positions, but most stayed crowded around the spectacle.

“NOW!” Severus demanded, and all the children, apart from Granger and Weasley, scurried for the door, throwing glances over their shoulders as they went.

He knelt down on the ground beside Potter, gently nudging Granger out of the way. She stared up at him with wide, despondent eyes and wiped at her cheeks.

“He’s alive. He’ll be okay,” he assured them. “Now, go to your dormitory.”

The ginger boy climbed to his feet, but the girl didn’t move from her position. She wouldn’t break eye contact with him, as if she was studying something deep within his dark orbs.

“Please.” She whispered, “Please help him.”

Severus felt the extreme emotion behind her plea and nodded tersely at the young girl. Then he gripped his hands around Potter’s torso and legs. He hoisted the boy up easily and held him securely against his chest. Without another word, he rushed out the door and made his way to his office. Once inside, Severus carefully removed his left hand from beneath the limp child and grabbed a handful of floo powder, noting the distressing reality of his ability to hold the boy’s weight with only one hand. He shouted out his destination and then stepped into the fire with Potter.

They arrived in the hospital wing, and were greeted by the gasp of Poppy Pomfrey, who had been busy filling a medicine cabinet.

“What’s happened?” She inquired, checking the boy for signs of blood or severe injury.

“He fainted in Potions.” Severus told the concerned mediwitch, placing the boy softly onto an empty bed near the fire.

“Did he inhale poisonous fumes? What was he brewing? Do you have the specific antidote on hand?”

“Mr. Potter’s condition did not result from his brewing. He passed out of his own accord.”

Poppy turned to him with narrowed eyes. “What caused him to faint?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’ve brought him to you,” he growled through clenched teeth.

“No need to get flustered,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure its nothing serious. He’s probably just suffered a slight drop in blood sugar, or maybe he’s dehydrated. He’ll probably wake up on his own shortly.”

“Check his nutrition levels,” Severus insisted.

“Do not tell me how to do my job, Severus.”

She waved her wand and then frowned when she received the results.

“He’s severely malnourished.” She said quietly, thinking hard. “With levels this low, it is amazing that he’s been functioning at all…. Does the boy ever eat?”

“Apparently not,” he muttered irritably.

He’d knew that his suspicions had merit, but he was still upset that he’d been right. Idiot child. Didn’t Potter know better. What would Dumbledore do if his precious little Gryffindor wasted away to nothing?

“His weight is grossly under a level acceptable for his age. Surely, he hasn’t been starving himself,” she mused with a confused expression.

“I think that’s exactly what he’s been doing,” Severus remarked. “I think the golden boy has an eating disorder. He barely ever eats in the Great Hall, and he’s skin and bones.”

“Well, I’ll have to talk to him about it when he wakes, but first I need to restore his nutrition levels, they’re dangerously low. I’ll need to start him on daily supplements and get someone to monitor him at meal times.”

Severus just nodded, contemplating his next words. He needed to explain to the woman his concerns of how serious Potter’s mental health issues seemed. She needed to know about the panic attack he’d observed, as well as his depressed demeanor over the start of term. He just wasn’t sure how to bring it up. Mental health issues were not common in wizarding children. They’d had the occasional students with depression or severe anxiety, and they’d all ended up in Saint Mungo’s. The boy-who-lived couldn’t end up there. It would be on the front page of the Profit within days, and Potter certainly didn’t need that type of publicity.

Poppy would unlikely have any real solution for the boy’s problems. Aside from forcing the child to eat, and filling him full of nutrient potions, there was little she could do to change his moods. Wizards just weren’t equipped to deal with these types of problems, as there were not any safe spells that could modify the mind effectively. Unlike muggles, they didn’t have a reputable alternative for therapists, which he suspected was what the boy might need.

“I have other suspicions about the boy,” Severus said dryly. When Poppy turned to face him, he continued. “I think Potter may be dealing with depression that accompanies his eating disorder, and I’ve seen him experience a rather violent panic attack.”

“Well normally, students with those…” she paused, as if thinking for an appropriate word, “issues are sent to Saint Mungo’s where they can get more advanced help. I don’t think it would be wise for Mr. Potter to go there.”

“I agree. I just feel as though the boy might need more help than you can provide. You should proceed with treatment for his eating disorder and then determine how his behavior shifts accordingly. His head of house should be informed, but I think it would be wise not to mention these issues to anyone else.”

“Yes. Of course. I’ve almost finished up here. His levels have been restored temporarily, but I’m going to have Minerva make sure that he eats specially prepared meals to try and increase his body weight. I’ll have to talk to her about his other issues as well.”

Severus was just turning to retreat back to the dungeons when he noticed a slight movement in his periphery. Potter was stirring. His eyelids twitched, and his small fists curled around the thin hospital sheets. His brows furrowed, and then slowly he revealed his clouded emerald eyes.

At first, he seemed confused. The young wizard blinked several times and peered around at his surroundings. Then resignation and an emotion that Severus thought was panic flooded his face when he recognized Madam Pomfrey who hovered over his bed with a kind smile.

The mediwitch fussed over Potter, making a scene of greeting him noisily and feeding him potion after potion. Severus scrutinized the boy’s behavior, seeing the way that he cowered away from the gentle hands of Poppy, seeming uncomfortable by her close presence. It was disconcerting to the Potion’s master. Potter should have been relishing in all of the attention. Potter should have been pitying himself. Potter shouldn’t have looked like a frightened toddler who wanted to hide under the bed.

“Mr. Potter, is there anything you want to tell us?” Madame Pomfrey questioned.

“No,” the boy replied quickly. His bony fingers fidgeted and knotted together anxiously in his lap.

“You collapsed during class.” She stated. “Do you know why?”

Potter did not even grace her with a response. He just stared blankly back at her.

“Your nutrition levels were dangerously low, Mr. Potter. Your body wasn’t able to function properly.” She paused to let the information sink in. “Why?”

The boy had the audacity to stare back at her as if she were daft. His expression held no remorse. As the silence droned on, Severus felt himself growing more and more irritated by his lack of response.

“POTTER!” He boomed. The boy jerked dramatically as if he’d just dodged a fist. Then he averted his gaze back to the ground and ignored everyone in the room again. “Have some respect, boy!” He snapped, scowling. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the boy muttered.

Severus placed himself directly in front of Potter, until their faces were just inches from touching. “Listen to me, Potter.” He growled dangerously. “If you do not tell us what we need to know, there are other ways for us to get that information, and those ways will not be pleasant for you. Now, why aren’t you eating?”

“I do eat.”  He replied insolently, still looking at the ground.

The angry Potion’s master grabbed the boy’s shoulders roughly and then forced his head up.

“I’ve been watching you for weeks. You haven’t been eating more than a few morsels in the Great Hall, and you know that you’re not getting nearly enough nutrients. I foolishly thought that you had been getting meals and sweets from the kitchens because you were too good to eat with the other students,” he snarled. “I thought that you had that much sense, but I was wrong. Your scans prove that you haven’t been eating enough to sustain a toddler. If you weren’t a wizard, you’d probably be dead by now!” He jerked the boy’s head up again. “Explain!”

“I wasn’t hungry,” Potter said dryly.

Severus let go of the boy and sighed. “If you can’t give a better explanation than that, then I hope you will enjoy the 24-hour surveillance that you’ll be under. If you don’t have a reason for this atrocious behavior, then I have no faith that your behavior will change without force.”

Something that he’d said must have sparked an interest in the boy’s mind, because he finally spoke up. “Surveillance?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. Potter. If you cannot be trusted to eat and care for yourself, then the headmaster will likely send you to Saint Mungo’s,” he threatened. “You’ll never have even a single moment alone. They’ll monitor what you do, what you eat, who you have contact with. You will have no control.”

Severus was only bluffing. He knew that Dumbledore would never allow that to happen, but as if a switch had been flipped, Potter’s behavior shifted. He sat up straighter. He raised his head higher. He folded his hands neatly in his lap. He looked to Madame Pomfrey and adopted a forlorn expression.

“It’s just been really hard,” he whispered. “Ever since my aunt died, I just haven’t felt like eating.”

“Were you close to your aunt?” The mediwitch asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” He said politely. “We were extremely close. She was almost like a mother to me.” The boy sniffled and gave a sad smile.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she told him and gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “I know it can’t be easy for you, but you need to take care of yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am. I didn’t realize it was so serious. I’ll make sure that I do better from now on.”

Poppy was absolutely enthralled by the boy’s performance, but Severus was not fooled. She discussed the importance of proper nutrition with him and gave him suggestions of foods filled with proteins and vitamins. Potter appeared to be soaking in the information, smiling and thanking her for the advice, but it was a mask. Behind that mask, Severus wondered what was really going through his head.

“You’ll need to be back here next Monday at 8:00 AM for a follow up appointment. I need to see that you’ve made progress and you’ve been taking all your supplement potions. Lucky for you, tonight’s Halloween feast will have plenty of nutritious options for you to choose from.” Poppy told him.

“Yes, ma’am. I promise that I’ll do better.”

And with that promise, Madame Pomfrey dismissed the boy, and he walked quickly from the room. Severus followed closely behind him. He saw Potter peer apprehensively over his shoulder. He seemed uncomfortable that the man was following him.

Severus traipsed behind him for several more minutes before he finally approached him. He cut the boy off before he could turn for the staircase that led to Gryffindor tower.

“You put on a good show, Potter, but don’t think you’ve fooled me. Understand that if you don’t fulfill your promise to Madam Pomfrey, then I will take action.”

Potter just nodded and then took off down the hall. This time, he didn’t look back.

* * *

Harry’s trainers pounded into the thick, glistening grass and his bag thudded against his back as he ran through the Hogwarts’ grounds. The dark sky spread out before him, only lit by a sliver of the moon and a myriad of bright stars. He felt relieved to finally be outside of the castle and away from everyone inside. All day, he’d been surrounded by people. They’d watched him and whispered. He was grateful that it was night, and while they all were asleep inside, he could be free.

Harry went to the feast just as he’d been told to. He sat down. He ate what he could. He took his potions. He’d done what he was instructed to do. Now Snape couldn’t do anything to him. The greasy git couldn’t shove him into Saint Mungo’s to be controlled. Snape could just ignore him.

It took great effort for Harry to make himself eat. He had seen McGonagall and Snape watching him from the staff table. To appease them, he’d chosen a small bowl of light vegetable soup and a buttery roll, but it had taken him nearly an hour to finish eating. Madame Pomfrey’s potions had helped some. They soothed his stomach and made him feel much less nauseous, but they didn’t affect his mind. They didn’t make him want the food, and they didn’t sway his need to feel the emptiness. Harry supposed that he could make himself eat, but he still didn’t want to. The sooner he could get Madam Pomfrey off his back, the better.

It hadn’t helped that it was Halloween. He had completely forgotten about the anniversary of his parents’ deaths until Madame Pomfrey had reminded him about the feast. It was the cherry on top of the perfect afternoon. First, he’d found out about Lucius’s search for him, then he’d collapsed, then he’d gone to the hospital wing and been lectured about an eating disorder, and finally, he’d been forced to eat a feast on the anniversary of the night his mom and dad were murdered. What a joyous celebration.

It was just another tragedy that he felt responsible for. The encounter with the dementors on the train earlier that year had spurred his interest in the night that his parents had died. His mother had pleaded for his life. Maybe if she would have just stood aside, she could have lived.

He sat down underneath a tall oak tree along the perimeter of the forbidden forest and pulled the photo album from his bag. He hadn’t looked through the album for months, and he found himself overcome with emotion as the smiling faces of his parents were illuminated under his wand’s light. He saw his mother’s warm, dazzling grin, and his father’s kind, cheerful eyes.

What would they think of me now? How would they feel about their pathetic waste of a son? They died for me. They died for nothing.

Page after page was turned, but the dark thoughts overwhelmed any comfort that the pictures might have brought him. Teardrops fell from Harry’s face and dotted the contents of the album, leaving small wet drops on the photographs, but the people in the photos continued to smile. They smiled as he sobbed. They smiled when his head hung down in shame. They smiled even after he slammed the album closed because he couldn’t bear to see their smiles any longer.

Harry heard a crack in the distance, and his head snapped up. From the darkness crept a hunched figure. It appeared from between the forest’s trees, panting and shaking. Harry spotted it through his tears and watched as it approached. He didn’t try to scurry away; he simply froze. It skulked closer and closer, until Harry could see it clearly.

It was a dog, large and menacing. Much bigger than any animal Harry had ever seen. It reached a distance of about ten feet away and then sat. Harry watched, wide eyed.

The only dog that Harry had ever had contact with was Marge’s dog Ripper, and that had not been a pleasant experience. Each time he’d encountered that mongrel, he’d ended up with painful bite marks littering his arms and legs.

This dog, however, seemed to be nonconfrontational. It didn’t growl nor bark at him. Instead, it sat motionless and stared at him. Harry thought that it almost appeared sad. It had some indiscernible emotion within its eyes that made him feel sympathy. The animal whimpered, a pathetic sound that caused Harry to feel sad for the beast. He scrutinized its features and was shocked when he recognized some of his own.

The dog, like Harry, was scrawny. It appeared so bony and malnourished, and Harry understood how hungry the animal had to be. It’s black fur, like Harry’s own mess of hair, was messy and matted. It stuck up wildly and gave the animal a feral appearance. The dog’s demeanor was dejected and forlorn, just like Harry. These similarities created a sort of bond between them.

The dog moved forward, and Harry didn’t back away. It took slow, careful steps until it was close enough to touch. Hesitantly, Harry reached out and ran his fingers through the dog’s black fur.

“It’s okay,” Harry told the animal. “I won’t hurt you.”

The dog curled up beside Harry and nuzzled its way closer. The animal rested its head gently in Harry’s lap as the boy continued to pet it.

The giant dog’s presence comforted Harry in a way that he never knew he needed. For a moment, he didn’t feel completely alone in the world.


	20. Chapter 20

Thick, bear-like paws pounded into the ground as the beast hurried to reach the familiar spot on the outskirts of the forbidden forest. The dog spotted the bank of the lake and then searched for his usual hiding place. He burrowed deep into a pile of brush and dense vegetation, careful to not be seen, and then curled up and waited. He knew that Harry would be there soon.

Every night for nearly a month, Sirius had perched near the castle’s grounds and observed his godson. Harry was nothing like he had imagined him to be. He expected to see a miniature James, with all the charm and boldness that his late friend had sported. The boy certainly had his father’s hair, but that was where all the similarities between father and son had ended. Instead of the confident, and sometimes downright obnoxious, man that he had known, he found a quiet, timid child, that reminded him more of the miserable prisoners he’d seen during his captivity in Azkaban.

When he’d first seen Harry, he hadn’t even realized who he was looking at. The tiny boy looked closer to age 11 than 13, and his features had not been distinct enough to distinguish his identity in the dark. He’d been intrigued by the young student who ventured out to sit on the edge of the water each night, but he had not wanted to risk blowing his cover, so he’d left the young wizard alone.

As time went on, and Sirius worked to familiarize himself with the castle and its inhabitants, he’d grown curious about what had become of his godson. He’d spotted him making his way to the greenhouse for herbology. The boy had been dragging his feet into the dirt with his head hung down toward the ground. He was trailing after a group of students, when another boy, a Slytherin based on the green stripes of his tie, shoved him harshly into the dirt. He’d heard a chorus of malicious chuckles and then the cruel shout of: “Watch where you’re going, Potter!”

His canine ears had perked up at the name, and even from a distance he’d finally noticed the familiar features: the dark, wild hair and the dazzling, emerald eyes. It was his godson. He’d been watching Harry Potter for the last several weeks without even knowing it. But why was his godson so miserable? Why didn’t he have any friends? Why did he look so lost? Sirius had no idea, but he was determined to find out. He’d fix all the problems in Harry’s life as soon as Pettigrew was dead.

He didn’t understand how the little rat had done it, how he’d been able to just sacrifice his friend’s life at the drop of a hat. Peter had never been like him and James, or even Remus. He’d been a shy, awkward boy, but they’d still included him; he’d still been their friend. So, what had gone so wrong? He had transitioned from a quiet Gryffindor to a violent death eater. It didn’t make any sense.

He supposed that the reason didn’t matter. Peter had done it. He’d killed James and Lily. He’d taken twelve years of Sirius’s life. That was unforgivable. He was going to kill the rat or die trying.

Then he could take Harry. He’d discovered that the boy was living with Lily’s sister. Muggles were not an appropriate place for a wizard of Harry’s caliber. As soon as the ordeal with Pettigrew was over, he could offer Harry a new life, a better life.

He had planned not to interact directly with his godson until the rat was dead, but his plan had changed on Halloween. From the castle, the boy had run. He had appeared more unnerved than usual, and instead of heading to the lake, he’d ventured all the way to the forbidden forest and plopped down underneath a tree. Sirius had inched closer, careful not to make a sound. He needed to know that Harry was alright. There were dangerous creatures in the forest, especially at night, and it was his obligation as godfather to protect him.

Harry had opened up a book, and for a few minutes, he just stared at the front cover. As soon as he turned the first page open, his eyes had filled with tears and they spilled over. Sirius was overcome with emotion at the sight of the little boy he had once known in such distress. The boy’s body shook with silent sobs until he finally slammed the book shut and flung it aside. The book fell open to a picture of James and Lily on their wedding day.

At that moment, he realized that the night was Halloween, the anniversary of James and Lily’s deaths. Harry missed his parents. He wanted to gather Harry in his arms and hold him close. The poor boy had never gotten to know the two amazing people in the photographs.

Sirius couldn’t take it anymore. He had to comfort his godson. Without thinking about how the child would react to a monstrous dog jumping out of the bushes, he crept out of his hiding spot and toward Harry.

When Harry looked up at him, he was struck by the sheer sorrow that shown in his eyes. He looked broken. Sirius stopped in his tracks, and he was surprised when a whimper slipped from his mouth. Harry made no move to run. He didn’t seem fearful at all. Sirius took another step, and then another.

“It’s okay. I won’t hurt you,” he heard Harry say.

He was astounded by the boy’s compassion. Instead of being worried about the huge mongrel, he was concerned. Sirius relaxed some. He bowed his head down to the boy and was relieved when he felt the child run his hands through his fur. Maybe he could be there for Harry after all.

That night, as he curled up next to his godson, he found a new sense of purpose. Every night since then he waited for Harry, and each time he saw him walking near, he was even more determined to finish Pettigrew so that he could restart his life.

He suddenly saw Harry creeping across the lawn. In his hand was a large bag, and Sirius’s mouth salivated at the smell of the food bundled inside of it. His godson was a generous child, and he had been bringing food to the scrawny animal every night since their first encounter. Harry called out for him in hushed tones.

“I’m back. I brought you some food.” He told the dog.

Sirius dashed toward him, his tail swinging wildly. It hadn’t been easy for him to find food, and he was grateful that his godson was providing him with meals. Harry threw a bundle of food down, and Sirius eagerly gobbled it up.

Though Harry had warmed up to him, Sirius was disappointed that the addition of a new “pet” hadn’t done much to raise his spirits. While the boy seemed to enjoy the canine’s company, he still seemed gloomy and listless. Sirius just wished he could do more for him.

Sirius knew that if he were in his human form, it would be easier for him to help. Then he could communicate with Harry. He could ask him what was bothering him, and maybe he could find a way to fix it. But he couldn’t do that.

Harry would be disgusted if he knew who hid beneath the Animagus form. The boy would take one look at the disgusting, flea ridden man, equipped with gnarled yellow teeth and wild bloodshot eyes, and he would run for his life. Harry would reject him, and Sirius wouldn’t even blame the kid.

Sirius was pulled from his musings when Harry spoke up again.

“Why is everything so screwed up?” he whispered.

Sirius turned his face to look up at the boy, and Harry laughed mirthlessly.

“I know you can’t understand me,” he said. “But I guess that means I can tell you anything. I mean, it’s not like you’re gonna tell anyone.”

Sirius was hanging on every word. Maybe he would finally learn something to help him understand what was going on with his godson.

“It’s just they watch me ALL the time, and I’m so sick of it. First it was Ron and Hermione. Then McGonagall. And now Madame Pomfrey and even Snape are interrogating me!”

_Snape? Sirius wondered. Surely, he doesn’t mean Snivellus._

“Always making me eat. Why should I have to eat if I don’t want to. How is that anyone’s business but mine?”

_He does look very thin… Actually, he looks worse than I do._

“I had to go to Madame Pomfrey’s checkup today. I’ve even been making myself eat, but I still have to take the disgusting potions. I think she believes that I’m getting better though. The sooner I can get her off of my back, the better.”

Sirius continued to stare in concern at the boy. He was worried that Harry’s problems were even more serious than he feared.

Harry just continued on, rubbing the dog’s ears as he spoke. “And if all of that wasn’t bad enough, Malfoy is back at it again. I don’t even fight back anymore. What’s the point? I’d only get in trouble if I fought, and I don’t care if I lose anyway.”

_Malfoy? Probably Lucius’s son. I bet that’s the little shit that pushed him._

“I’d still take Draco over Lucius any day,” Harry muttered, and then buried his head in his hands.

Now, Sirius didn’t know what to think _. What would Lucius have to do with Harry?_

“Maybe it will all work out for the best,” Harry mused wistfully. “Maybe Lucius will just end it all. Then I won’t even have to worry about it. Then I could stop seeing their faces and stop reliving everything. I just wish it would all go away.”

The look on Harry’s face made the fur on his back stand up. He needed to catch Pettigrew, and fast.


	21. Chapter 21

Finally, it was the end of another Potion’s class. The persistent smell of fumes still hung heavy in the air as Harry made his way out into the hall. He could see Ron and Hermione lingering near the staircase as if waiting for him. Ron motioned for him to come over, but he slowly shook his head at him. He knew they wanted him to go to the Gryffindor quidditch practice, but he wasn’t interested.

Quidditch just wasn’t important to him anymore. After failing to show up to the first three practices this season, Oliver had finally gotten the hint that he didn’t care if he was on the team or not and had begun searching for a replacement. Harry remembered hearing that one of the Gryffindor fourth years had taken his position as seeker. Now, the team was participating in their final practice before the first match of the season against Slytherin, and many members of the house were attending to support them. Harry did not want to be one of them.

He assumed that with everyone gone, the common room would be empty, and he could go and sit by the fire in silence. He was perfectly content to spend his time in solitude staring into the flames instead of watching children on brooms flying back and forth for hours and being surrounded by dozens of screaming supporters. Then, once the students had returned, he could head to his mandatory meal in the Great Hall, pretend to be asleep in his dorm, and then sneak outside after dark.

Outside he could meet up with the big, shaggy, black dog that had become his confidante. He enjoyed his time by the edge of the lake, ranting about his day to an animal that couldn’t use the information against him. It felt good letting some of his thoughts and anger out. It was almost freeing to get some of it off his chest without being judged. The friendly mutt only cuddled against his side and offered sympathetic whines.

He had begun to think of the dog as his own pet, and he felt responsible for him. He made sure to smuggle some food out during meal times that he could give to the dog. Every night, the animal would happily trot over to him and scarf down every morsel. Harry wished that he could give the dog all of his food, but that wasn’t allowed.

Just as she had promised, Madame Pomfrey scheduled appointments for him to go to. He’d just been to his fourthcheck up last night, and the Mediwitch had gushed about the progress he’d made. She truly believed that he was getting better, but he still had to take his nutrient potions. He couldn’t wait for her to declare him cured so that he could have control over his life again, but he knew that he needed to fool her for a bit longer.

So, he did what he had to do. He went to all his meals and all his classes. He took all of his potions and put on a fake smile whenever he was around a teacher. Well, except Snape. Snape didn’t believe his stories anyway, so Harry figured it wasn’t worth the effort to try and convince him. Snape could read him like a book, and he found it ironic that the man who had always accused him of being an arrogant, spoiled brat had been so wrong about his character but so right about his secrets. He was just glad that the class with the git was over and he didn’t have to sit under the man’s questioning gaze any longer.

Harry headed off in the opposite direction of the large crowd of students. Deciding to wait to head back to the tower when the halls were less crowded, he detoured into the boy’s bathroom. He stood silently in the stall, counted to 300, and then moved to exit the empty restroom. Hoping that he had waited long enough that he wouldn’t have to see anyone on his way to the tower, he opened the door. The hall was clear, and he felt the corners of his mouth turn up slightly.

The young Gryffindor shuffled up the bare staircase slowly, enjoying the silence. He reached the next floor and whipped his head to the side when he heard laughter approaching from the around the corner. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were heading toward him, seeming in an unusually good mood. Though Harry tried to get out of their line of sight, he wasn’t quick enough, and he was soon surrounded by the Slytherin boys.

“Hey, Potter. What were you still doing down there? Did you get scared by a suit of armor and pass out or something?” Malfoy chuckled, swaggering closer to him, and his cohorts followed closely behind.

Harry stared blankly at them. He knew what they wanted. They wanted to break him down. They wanted him to be embarrassed. They wanted him to hurt. Little did they know, he already did.

“Are you deaf, scar-head? Or are you just too stupid to respond? It’s what everyone’s saying you know. They all think you’re completely mental. Even Snape thinks you’re too pathetic to berate!” He turned to Crabbe and Goyle. “Maybe Sirius Black will get his hands on pitiful Potter soon, and we all won’t have to look at him anymore.”

Crabbe and Goyle nodded in affirmation. Goyle murmured something back that Harry couldn’t quite make out. It was obvious that whatever he’d said Malfoy found hilarious though, and he laughed for several seconds before turning back to Harry.

“Did you hear that, Potter? If you see Sirius Black, just let him kill you! You would be doing a favor to everyone!”

When Harry turned without responding, Malfoy grabbed him by the shoulder. His long, hook-like fingers curled around Harry’s scapula and dug into his flesh, causing Harry to let out a yelp of surprise.

“I heard that you quit the quidditch team. Worried that I would beat you this year, Potter?” Malfoy jeered.

“Leave me alone, Malfoy.” Harry told him, swatting the Slytherin’s hand from his shoulder.

“So, it speaks,” Draco proclaimed, grinning more broadly when Crabbe and Goyle guffawed loudly from beside him. “And don’t ever touch me Potter. Pathetic pieces of filth like you shouldn’t defile the skin of proper, pureblood wizards.” He said, his voice taking on a more dangerous tone. “I suggest you apologize.”

  Harry decided not to respond to him and turned to escape again. No hands grabbed for him this time. Instead, he heard a faint whisper, followed by a stab of pain that erupted across his left arm. Harry was sure that it had been a cutting curse, and he felt blood springing to the surface of his skin. His bag slid from his limp arm and dropped to the floor as he turned to face his attackers. He didn’t raise his wand to them.

Harry didn’t move. He only stared.

The three larger boys stared at him for a moment, as if anticipating some reaction from the Gryffindor, but Harry only looked back with eyes that were empty. Then another curse was thrown at him. This one struck him in the torso, ripping a hole in his robes.

“Come on Potter! Are you too cowardly to fight back? Do something!” Malfoy shouted.

Harry didn’t move. He only stared.

Crabbe and Goyle joined in with Malfoy, sending several stinging hexes flying toward him. They seemed to be growing angrier by his lack of response. The spells came at him more frequently and aggressively, growing more severe in nature. He was bombarded by a myriad of unknown spells that left blood droplets on the floor and caused new bruises to bloom on his pale skin.

Then, suddenly, all the spells stopped. Malfoy leaned over and whispered something to Crabbe, who then passed the message to Goyle. The two troll-like figures smirked with amusement, and Draco’s grey eyes gleamed with malice as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Potter, I’m going to give you one more chance.” He told him, speaking slowly. “You didn’t respond when I addressed you. You refused to duel with me. If you don’t respond now, you will regret it.”

Harry refused to budge. While the spells inflicted by the three Slytherins had caused him pain, he found that he didn’t mind. The sharp stings seemed to offer a break from the monotony, leaving him with a few brief moments of clarity in which he finally felt alive. He was sure that whatever Malfoy had planned would not be nearly as unpleasant as the Slytherin hoped it would be.

Draco positioned himself directly in front of Harry, paused one moment as if waiting for Harry to surrender, raised his wand, and then clearly and loudly spoke one word: “Flipendo.”

Harry recognized it as the knockback jinx. It was the same spell he’d used on Draco at the dueling club performance last year. Instantly, he realized what Draco had planned for him. Several feet behind him lay the stairs. He knew that as soon as the spell struck him, he would be propelled several feet backward to slam into the wall, and then he’d tumble down the remaining steps and smash his skull into the solid dungeon floor. He could be seriously, even fatally, injured.

Harry didn’t move. He only stared.

Then he was airborne.


	22. Chapter 22

A cacophony of sharp, scornful words erupted from the top of the staircase, and Severus Snape silently climbed the steps, eager to assign punishments to the misbehaving students. As he grew closer, he began to make out the words as a mixture of different spells. He recognized some stinging hexes, some jinxes, and a few curses, as well as a mixture of darker spells that should never be performed by students. He also recognized the offenders.

Severus could hear the malice in the young Malfoy's voice as he sent another curse flying toward his victim, and he immediately identified the other voices as Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

The three were always together, and almost always participating in distasteful activities. They were bullies, plain and simple. As the Slytherin head of house, Severus was aware that a majority of his students had a natural propensity for performing dark magic, and many of them yearned to use their powers on other less influential children, but Malfoy's little posse was one of the worst. He could usually expect the trio to be up to no good, and it was his job to make sure that they weren't caught; it wasn't a simple feat.

It was his responsibility to cover up whatever crime they'd committed and make sure they were not punished. He wasn't even allowed to assign them detentions for most offences. It was only in the most serious of situations, in which their actions could not be ignored, that he was allowed to properly punish the students in his house without the threat of backlash from their influential families.

Draco sent another cutting curse flying, and Severus wondered who his victim was this time. The unidentified student must have done something severe to evoke such a reaction. It was rare for the group to attack without some form of provocation.

That's why he was shocked that he didn't hear any spells being sent back by the unknown student.  _Are they attacking someone who is defenseless?_

Severus was even more perplexed when he failed to hear any sounds of pain. The spells that his students were sending, though not life threatening, were undoubtedly painful, but he didn't hear the slightest whimper of response.

Abruptly, the stairwell grew silent. The Slytherins stopped slinging spells, and the Potion's master wondered if their attack was over. He hoped that he wouldn't find an unconscious child on the floor. But then, he heard Malfoy speaking.

"Potter, I'm going to give you one more chance."

 _Potter!_ Severus was surprised to hear who was being bombarded with curses, but he understood why no sounds escaped from the boy's mouth. The young Gryffindor was like an empty shell these days. He rarely talked, unless addressed by a staff member. It made sense that he wouldn't give Draco the satisfaction of hearing him in pain.

"You didn't respond when I addressed you. You refused to duel with me. If you don't respond now, you will regret it," Draco told Potter.

So, the Gryffindor hadn't done a single thing to provoke Mr. Malfoy besides ignoring him. Severus thought that was harsh, even for Draco. And now, it sounded as if Draco was going to try and seriously injure the boy. The professor knew that it was time to make his presence known before the situation got out of hand. He turned the corner and made himself visible, just as the spell tumbled from Draco's thin lips.

"Flipendo."

With a loud boom, Potter was thrown off of his feet, soaring backward. Severus threw up his wand and placed a cushioning charm on the stone wall, just before the boy's head slammed against it. In a flash, he yelled out the floating charm, which sent Potter drifting gently back toward the ground where he landed softly on his feet in front of Severus.

The three Slytherin's stood frozen, watching the spectacle with incredulity. They didn't appear at all remorseful, and Severus could not control his anger.

"WHAT IS YOUR EXPLANATION FOR THIS!" He boomed at the three wide eyed children in green ties.

Crabbe and Goyle cowered a bit at his display of aggression, but the pompous Malfoy heir stood, shoulders straight and head held high, with a cocky expression.

"Potter started it." Draco declared. "He came out of nowhere and started shooting curses at us!"

"Then why do you three appear uninjured, while Mr. Potter looks like he was mauled by a wild hippogriff?" Severus inquired.

"We dodged them. Potter just wasn't fast enough to do the same," Draco claimed, and his two cohorts nodded.

Severus knew full well that Harry hadn't even raised his wand at the trio, but he knew it was his duty to defend them. There could be no question of where his loyalties lied.

"I see," he said. "And what do you have to say for yourself, Potter."

The Gryffindor refused to speak.

"Is what they say true?" Severus continued.

The boy shrugged.

"Well then. Potter, you will be serving detention with me, and that'll be 50 points from Gryffindor!”

Draco snickered loudly at Potter’s punishment, and Severus face darkened.

As for you three," He said, eyeing the Slytherins sharply. "Dueling in the halls is unacceptable. Act with discretion in the future, and I better never have to intervene to keep you from killing a student again. That’ll be detention for a month with Mr. Filch!"

The Slytherin's looked taken aback by his sharp tone. Draco gaped at him, looking like he was dumbfounded at the idea of consequences for his actions.

“But, Professor, it was only Potter!” Draco argued. “I’m sure my father would be very displeased to hear that I was given a detention.”

“Well, Mr. Malfoy, I will gladly explain to your father why you received punishment. It’s because you were lazy, had no tact, and displayed no common sense!” Severus roared, letting his anger soar. “You were caught attacking a student, and if there is one thing I am to teach as your head of house, it’s discretion and proper public etiquette!”

“But, Professor! It was Potter’s fault! We don’t deserve detention!”

“Mr. Potter has already been punished, and you have more than earned your detentions.” Severus explained derisively. “You’re lucky I don’t go straight to the headmaster and get you suspended! Now, I better not hear another word out of you or I’ll make it two months. Get out of my sight!”

The trio appeared to be fuming, but they nodded tersely and turned to leave. Potter moved to do the same, but Severus threw out his arm to stop him.

"Why didn't you attempt to defend yourself?” He whispered. “I've seen you duel before. You could have easily dodged those spells."

The boy shrugged again, staring dazedly at the ground.

Severus placed his hands on the boy's shoulders and shook him slightly. "Have you no sense? Do you realize you could have been killed?"

Potter refused to meet his eyes, and Severus felt a sinking feeling settle into the pit of his stomach.

"Are you suicidal?" He asked earnestly.

This time, the child looked up at him. His clouded, emerald eyes stared deep within the depths of Severus's black ones.

"You can't kill something that's already dead."

The voice that the boy used was chilling and sincere, and Severus felt dismayed by his declaration.

"Come with me." Severus demanded, grabbing the boy by the forearm and leading him down the staircase.

"Why?" The child asked, stumbling a bit.

"For your…" Severus paused, trying to find the appropriate word. "Detention."

Potter didn't even argue with him. He followed the man the rest of the way down the steps and into his office. Severus pulled him over to his desk, pulling several potions from a drawer and holding them out to the boy.

"Take these," he told him, and Potter obliged.

"Now, take off your robe," he instructed.

The boy carefully slipped his tattered, black robe over his head and dropped it to the floor. Underneath, he wore a loose, white tank and a pair of jeans. Even with those garments on, Severus was disgusted by the injuries he'd acquired.

The boy's thin arms were covered with fresh, purple bruises and cuts of various sizes. Blood was smeared across his shirt and most of his skin, and a few particularly deep gashes continued to ooze the crimson liquid. Severus cleaned and bandaged the boy's wounds without a word. From the dazed look on his face, Severus guessed that Potter wasn't even fully aware of what was happening.

After repairing the child's robe, the Potion's master slid the garment onto his thin torso, maneuvering the sleeves around his arms until he was properly dressed. Then he gently placed the boy into an arm chair near his bookshelf and crouched in front of him.

"Potter. Do you know what is happening? Are you coherent?" He asked without spite. Severus was genuinely concerned that the boy was in some kind of stupor. He wondered if he'd suffered a blow to the head as well.

Potter nodded slowly, but his face was emotionless.

"Can you tell me what happened tonight?" Severus asked. He hoped that Potter would open up to him so that he could attempt to provide him with some help. The boy had been stuck in a depressive state for long enough, and he was determined to fix it.

It was obvious by Potter's actions that afternoon that he was desperate. He deliberately succumbed to danger and refused to protect himself, even when he knew he could be fatally injured. What was stopping him from attempting to harm himself?

He needed help, and no one seemed to be taking him seriously. Potter had Pomfrey and McGonagill believing that he was getting better. Just yesterday, Pomfrey had told him that the boy was making amazing progress. It was infuriating! The boy wore a mask around the people who mattered, and he knew exactly how to manipulate them to get his way. Severus hated to admit it, but his demeanor was downright Slytherin, and that devious nature, which resulted in secrets and lies, could ultimately lead to his death.

"No," Potter replied. He curled his legs underneath himself and settled further into the chair.

"Why not?"

"Because it doesn't matter. Nothing matters." The boy's arms crossed across his chest defiantly, and Severus was pleased to see his slight display of irritation. Any emotion was better than no emotion. Potter's blank, cold face was chilling enough to haunt his dreams.

"It does matter. It matters to me. If I didn't care, I wouldn't've asked." Severus told him seriously.

"You just want to tell Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey, so they can send me away." He spat.

"They're not going to send you away, you foolish child. And I'm not going to tell them anything. It's clear to me that their judgement is not sound as they choose to believe your lies. Be truthful, and anything that you say within these walls will never leave this room."

"Even if I believed you, which I don't, it still doesn't matter."

Severus was beginning to get fed up with the child's responses. He was doing his best to help the boy, and the brat wasn't even attempting to be cooperative. He decided to try and use Potter's logic against him.

"If you truly believe that nothing matters, and you know that I already see through your lies, then you should be able to provide an explanation." Severus prodded.

The child paused for a moment, as if trying to find a fault in what the Potion's master had suggested.

"Fine." Potter said finally, appearing annoyed. "Malfoy tried provoking me and I ignored him. He got angry and decided that I deserved to be punished. He hit me with some spells, and then you showed up." Potter peered up at Severus. "Happy now?"

"Not quite, Mr. Potter." Severus began. "Why didn't you fight back?"

"Because I'm not supposed to. I guess all the detentions and lost points that I got from you for fighting in the halls must've worked." The boy said this in a condescending tone that would have normally made the potion's master furious, but instead, he found himself slightly amused. The child was being cheeky, but honest. That was a step in the right direction.

"Well, why didn't you attempt to dodge? Surely your renowned quidditch skills could have been used to get out of the way," Severus shot back at him.

"I didn't see the point," he responded with a touch of sadness in his voice. "The pain didn't really bother me, and I didn't think it was worth the effort." The boy's desolate expression showed that he earnestly believed that defending himself served no purpose. Severus grew angry by the brat's lack of judgement.

"I see. You didn't even think it was worth the effort when you were nearly killed?" He spat, raising his voice. Severus recalled the image of his limp body propelling toward the wall. He imagined the child lying lifeless on the floor, surrounded by a pool of blood flowing from a fatal head wound. He was disgusted by the brat's utter disregard for his own safety.

"I didn't have time to move."

"Are you lying to convince me or yourself?" Severus questioned gravely, raising an eyebrow.

Harry didn't answer the question. He turned from the professor and faced the wall with a somber expression.

Severus was slightly shocked to learn that the Golden boy, who he'd always known to be pompous and conceited, actually had non-existent self-confidence and very little regard for his own life.

"That's what I thought," Severus replied coolly.

"So, can I get started with my detention? Aren't I supposed to be washing cauldrons or something?" The boy questioned, attempting to change the subject.

"No, Potter. This isn't a real detention." Severus told him. He'd only assigned the detention to keep up appearances and to force Potter to talk to him. He had no intention of actually punishing the child for being attacked in the hall.

"So, I can leave?" Potter asked, seeming confused.

"No," the professor stated with frustration. Severus knew that he was not taking care of the situation correctly. He needed to find a way to make the boy realize that he was mistaken about his worth.

They sat at a standstill for several minutes, Harry perched tensely in the chair and Severus crouched in front of him, looking exasperated. Severus's position was beginning to hurt his knees when Harry broke the silence.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked.

"What do you mean?" Severus didn't understand the question. He rose from his squatting position and pulled a chair over from behind his desk to sit in.

"You saved me, and you're talking to me, acting like you give a shit. I know you hate me, so what are you getting out of this?"

Potter spoke with contempt, and Severus was taken aback when he actually felt stung by the boy's words. He knew that he wasn't nice to the child. It wasn't his job to be nice, but it was apparent that he had given the boy the impression that he genuinely despised him.

"I don't hate you," Severus admitted.

"Could've fooled me," Potter grumbled and rolled his eyes. "I guess the constant insults and cruelty was because you liked me."

Severus chuckled. "You exaggerate, Potter. I have not treated you much different than any other Gryffindor." He disliked all of his Gryffindors equally. Well, except for Longbottom, who was appallingly bad at potions, despite all his effort.

"Really? I don't remember you focusing on any of the other kids and digging into them like you did with me."

The Potion's master thought about the boy's statement and realized that he had a point. Over the last three years, he had done his best to antagonize Potter. He even took pleasure out of humiliating the boy. He realized that to gain his trust, he would have to apologize.

"I know that I treated you unfairly," he forced himself to say. "I believe that I initially misjudged you, but I didn't hate you then, and I don't hate you now, Potter."

"I can tell you do by the way that you say my name: Potter," he grumbled with disgust. "You can't even say it without scowling!"

"The name Potter has never been a pleasant one," Severus explained. He sighed softly. He didn't want to disclose the details of his personal life, but it was the only way he knew to make the child trust him. "I think my hatred of your name stems from your father."

"You knew my father?" The boy asked, a slight spark of excitement returning to his eyes.

"Yes. I went to school with your father." Severus said, his tone grim.

Severus took a moment to reflect on his school days, trying to keep from glowering at the unpleasant memories. The image of James Potter’s face was enough to make his fists shake with anger. He let out a deep breath to release some of his frustration.

"And you didn't like him," the boy guessed, watching the Potion's master's reaction.

"That's an understatement. I would say that my feelings for him were probably reminiscent of your feelings for Mr. Malfoy." Severus told the child, grimacing at the memories.

"Why? What did he do?" The boy asked, looking concerned.

"He was a bully… James Potter made me miserable. I hated him, not you."

"Oh…" The boy said seeming sad. "So that's why you hated, I mean, didn't like me then?"

"Precisely. Upon our first meeting, I assumed you were much like your father. You walked into my classroom looking like his clone."

Potter seemed to be thinking over Severus's explanation for a moment. He nodded his head slowly and then offered a look of comprehension to the professor.

"I guess I understand. I bet if I was an adult and I saw a miniature Malfoy, I wouldn't like him much either."

"I can't help but remember your father when I say your name," Severus admitted.

"You do know I have a first name, right?" The boy said, smirking. "It's Harry."

Severus laughed softly. The boy was beginning to remind him of Lily. Her quick wit and snarky comments were some of his favorite things about her. She always had something to say that would make him laugh.

"Yes, Potter. I know, but it isn't proper for professors to address their students by their first names."

"Why not? It's better than you sounding like you want to strangle me whenever you talk to me."

"I suppose you have a point. I'll do my best to call you by your name outside of class." Severus assured him.

"Thanks, Professor," Harry said. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You may."

"Who is Sirius Black?" Harry asked.

Severus was confused. How could the boy not know about Black? The entire wizarding world had been buzzing about the criminal's escape from Azkaban for months. The students had been worrying about him since the start of term. The ministry had placed dementors around the school to help protect everyone. Dumbledore had even explained the situation at the welcoming feast. It was common knowledge that Black was after Harry. It made no sense that Harry wasn't aware.

"You really don't know?" Severus asked him, making sure that he wasn't kidding.

"No. Malfoy mentioned him to me earlier. Should I know him?"

"Well, Pot- Harry, Sirius Black was one of the Dark Lord's followers who was responsible for your parents' deaths." The Potion's master explained gently. "He escaped from Azkaban a few months ago. That's why the dementors surround the grounds now."

"Oh… and he wants to kill me?" Harry asked.

"Yes. But the Headmaster and the Minister of Magic have taken special precautions to make sure he can't harm you. You're safe here." Severus assured him. He hoped that the boy wouldn't seek out the mass-murderer.

Harry appeared to be taking in the information and contemplating it. Severus wished he knew what the boy was thinking.

"Harry, why don't you want to live anymore?" Severus asked him bluntly. He hoped that the more casual turn that their conversation had taken would make the child comfortable enough to be honest.

The boy grew very still at his words and his face seemed to shift before the Potion master's eyes. The blank mask was back.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Professor."

"Very well," He said and sighed. "I will be assigning you more of these detentions soon, but that's enough time for today, you're free to go."

As the lifeless child slumped his way to the door, Severus wondered if he'd made enough progress. Once again, he saw the disturbing image of a small corpse lying in a puddle of blood.

He hoped that he'd done enough.


	23. Chapter 23

Harry placed his quill to the parchment, letting his words flow freely onto the page. The black ink covered the paper, leaving smudges in some spots and large, distracting blobs in others, but only the words on the page really mattered. Harry wanted to be sure that his message was perfect. He yearned to express the feelings he’d been repressing, all of the things he hadn’t let himself think about. He needed to make them understand.

 Harry had felt cold for a long time. Not the cold that came from lacking a warm coat in frigid weather, but a cold that came from the inside. A cold that pervaded every cell and every nerve of his body, leaving him numb. He felt it travel from within him, originating in his chest and then swiftly moving throughout his stomach, arms, and legs, leaving a trail of goosebumps and hair that stood on its end, before proceeding to his head where it caused a slight tingle and lingering emptiness.

He wondered if anyone had seen it in his face. Had his eyes suddenly glazed over and grown dull? Had his expression frozen and turned blank? Had they noticed at all?

When did it change? It was as if suddenly everything had shifted. His whole world was on its side. He remembered joyous days of flying through the air on his broom with Ron, laughing and joking. Those days had been replaced with darkness, filled with gory images of corpses that taunted him, and isolation that left him feeling like he was completely alone in the world.

Now, he didn’t have the friends that had kept him sane. He didn’t have the teachers who looked upon him proudly as if he was something special. He didn’t even have himself. It was as if he had no control.

Harry saw disappointment in the eyes of many, and encouragement in nearly none. No genuine words were spoken, but he heard their voices all the same. He was a failure. He was a disappointment. He was nothing.

He’d lived his whole life trying to please, attempting to be the golden boy that had defeated the dark lord and who would have made his dead parents proud. When did he screw up? Was it when Marge had died from the heart attack he’d given her? Was it when he’d pulled the trigger and felt a man bleed out on top of him? Had it happened even after that?

The change had occurred gradually, so slowly that he hadn’t even noticed. Then, suddenly, he was the outcast. Where he had once been the center of attention, bombarded by friendly voices and laughter, he’d turned into a pariah, a recluse.

He felt himself distancing more and more from his old self, but he had no desire to change back. Harry just didn’t care; he found no reason to, because no matter how hard he tried, he still felt empty. He couldn’t make the cold go away. It was a chronic pest, clinging to his soul like a tick sucking what little life was left inside him. He hadn’t known how to make it stop, but he finally had an idea.

Before Snape had said it, the thought had never occurred to Harry. Sure, he was ready for the pain to end, for himself to finally be free, but he always assumed he would die by another’s hand, not his own.

When Malfoy’s spell had shot toward him, he was sure it was all over, and he finally felt at peace. Harry had seen the blinding, blue light rushing toward him, and he’d felt lighter, even before he had been swept off his feet. His body had been weightless, and a new emotion filled his chest. He didn’t know how to describe the feeling, but it was almost as if he wasn’t afraid to die. He wanted it to be an accident, so that he didn’t look responsible, and Malfoy had provided the perfect opportunity. At least until Snape intervened.

The man had saved him, and Harry didn’t know whether to be surprised that Snape cared enough to keep him alive or to be disappointed that he was still alive. Why had Snape decided to spare him? The professor knew better than anyone what a pathetic wretch that Harry was, yet he had stopped the Slytherins

Harry had never heard of Snape standing against his own house. Even though Harry had been given detention as well, he could tell that Snape hadn’t wanted to punish him. The man’s piercing gaze had pleaded for him to tell the truth. But Harry knew the truth didn’t matter, so he’d been silent. Still, Snape had attacked Malfoy and his cronies, berating them for hurting him. What happened afterward had shocked him even more.

He had seen a whole other side to the man, and he was confused by what he observed. Professor Snape had taken him to his office, given him potions for the pain, cleaned and bandaged his cuts, and tried to make him comfortable. Harry wasn’t sure if he believed that Snape had pure intentions, but he’d decided to take a chance. For the first time, the git really spoke to him, and Harry was able to speak back without repercussions. He’d been able to curse in front of the man, call him out on his own transgressions, and Snape had still called him Harry for the first time.

For some reason, hearing the professor speak his name without feeling the venom in his voice or seeing a grimace on his face lifted Harry’s spirits. For a moment, it was as if someone actually cared. He felt comforted and safe.

But, underneath those feelings of renewed happiness, Harry was still cold and bitter. Snape had ruined his moment of freedom. It was as if the shackles around his hands and feet were just being lifted only to be slammed back on him again. Harry was a bird that yearned to soar high above, and he had been roughly shoved into a display cage to rot. But he now knew how he could obtain his freedom again, thanks to Snape. 

The man had asked if he was suicidal, and Harry had to think about what the word meant. Never before had he considered taking his own life. He hadn’t even known that he wanted to die. But Snape had said it, and now he knew.

He knew it wasn’t a conventional idea. The thought of anyone else killing themselves would ordinarily make his skin crawl. For some reason, when he thought of himself doing it, the thought didn’t bother him.

Harry supposed that the difference between himself and others was that he was inferior, and unlike them, he deserved it. Like Malfoy had said, if he just died, then he would be doing a favor to everyone. No one needed him or depended on him apart from his canine friend and Hedwig, but he could arrange for someone to care for his pets. He had no reason to wait any longer; he would do it tonight.

Later, once everyone was asleep, he would creep to the astronomy tower. No classes were being held there until tomorrow night, so he was sure that he would not be interrupted. He’d bring the gun. It would all be so simple.

The yellow stained paper began to quake slightly in his trembling hands. Harry let out the breath he’d been holding, a breath that he seemed to have been holding in for months. His letter was done. After scrawling his name at the bottom of the parchment, he folded it gently and placed it in the pocket of his robe.

Harry smiled sadly and took in the scene before him. From his position in the armchair near the fire, he could see Ron and Hermione hunched over a chessboard and speaking animatedly to each other. Ron appeared to be winning the game, and Harry assumed he was gloating while an irritated Hermione lectured him over the history of chess. It was just the type of situation that reminded Harry of the good old days.

Merlin, he missed them. He hoped that they would realize how much their friendship had meant to him. His friends had been the one bright spot in his life, and he regretted pushing them away this year, but he knew that it was for the best. They would be okay; they had each other.

Ron declared checkmate, causing Hermione to pout, and then muttered something that made them both burst into laughter. Harry was overwhelmed with a sense of nostalgia at the familiar, jubilant noise; it was his favorite sound. He rose from his chair and made his way towards the staircase. Glancing once more over his shoulder at them, his eyes fixated on their carefree expressions, Harry tiptoed up the stairs to his dormitory.

* * *

When the sounds of Ron’s bear-like snores finally reached his ears, Harry threw the bed covers off himself and peered hesitantly around the darkened room, searching for the slightest sign of movement; all was still. He placed the handwritten note on his pillow and then plunged his hands beneath the mattress, searching blindly until they brushed against something solid. Harry grabbed the metal object and stowed it in his bag. Stepping slyly around the piles of clothes and quidditch gear strewn around the room, Harry maneuvered his way out the door.

Under his invisibility cloak, he slipped unseen through the halls. He had one more stop to make before the astronomy tower. Turning to the right instead of climbing up the staircase, Harry traipsed out of the castle and toward the forbidden forest.

The dog bounded out of the trees before Harry had even finished removing his cloak. The canine nuzzled against his legs, and then plopped down in front of him, staring expectantly.

Harry hoped that his furry friend would be alright when he was gone. But he’d written to Ron about the dog and Hedwig, and he was confident that his friend would make sure that his pets were taken care of. Pushing those thoughts away, he rummaged in his bag and pulled out a turkey leg that he’d swiped at dinner.

Immediately the dog began to salivate, snatching the treat from the boy’s hand. Harry stared sadly down at him, wishing that he’d take his time eating. But the food was gone in no time, and Harry was left staring at the furry beast, at a loss for words.

When the Gryffindor didn’t sit down as he usually did, the dog cocked his head to the side, offering a confused expression.

“I can’t stay tonight, boy,” Harry whispered, his words getting caught within his throat.

The canine whimpered and nuzzled into Harry’s leg.

“Really.” Harry told the dog. “I need to go to the astronomy tower now, but I just wanted to say thanks. I know that you don’t realize it, but you’ve helped me a lot.”

The dog’s eyes seemed to shine at his words, and Harry felt himself growing teary eyed. He sucked in a deep breath and then continued.

“I’m really gonna miss you, but Ron will take good care of you. He’s real nice. You’ll like him.”

Harry knelt down, burying his face into the dog’s thick mess of fur. He wrapped his arms around the beast, letting his tears fall silently. Then, with one final pat on the head, Harry composed himself, rose from the ground, and offered his furry friend one last sad smile.

“Bye, boy.”

Harry slipped the cloak back over himself and started running. He didn’t look back.

Before he knew it, he was in the astronomy tower.

            The soft pitter-patter of footsteps filled the empty tower, as Harry took slow, hesitant steps toward the center of the room. From his position, the bright, twinkling stars shown clearly in the night sky, streaking the room with broken light.

Harry’s legs felt heavy, as if his body were filled with cement; it reminded him of when he’d tried to run from Vernon. His limbs had felt so heavy and foreign then, as if they were only partially connected to his body, but somehow, he’d made himself move and found a way to reach the bedroom. He’d grabbed the gun. He’d shot someone. He’d never forgotten a moment of it.

            Harry smelt whiskey from another time, and felt the lingering, hot breath on his neck once more. He envisioned the chilling scene of a man drenched in blood and spattered with bits of his own flesh as he lifted the weapon from his bag.

 _This is it._ Harry raised the pistol to his temple, feeling the slick metal dig into his skin.

 _No more cupboard. No more nightmares. No more pain._ He placed his shaking finger on the trigger.

_Now I can fly away._


	24. Chapter 24

Sirius had spent years enveloped by darkness. Living like a blind man trapped within a damp box, he’d spent his time curled up on the stone floor shivering and imagining what it would be like to tear Peter Pettigrew limb from limb. Visions of violence and gore constantly danced behind his eyes while shrill shrieks of agony erupted from the cells near him. In some fantasies, he’d massacred the rat, using his sharp canine teeth to rip and tear the rodent to bits. In others, he saw himself plunging a knife repeatedly into the mangled body of the man he’d once trusted. Killing Pettigrew was one of the only things that he’d thought about for the past twelve years.

However, there were a few occurrences where he’d let his mind wander from thoughts of revenge to his family. James and Lily had been the people closest to him in the entire world. James had been his best friend and brother, and he’d quickly accepted Lily into the position of his little sister. Then when they’d had Harry, he’d gained a nephew. Sirius had planned to spoil the child silly, bringing him exciting gifts and teaching him tricks that would drive his parents crazy. Even though he didn’t think he’d ever settle down with a wife or have children of his own, he felt comfortable to spend his life as an honorary Potter, and he would have. If only he hadn’t been so goddamn stupid.

Sirius had never once suspected that Pettigrew was a traitor. The shy, awkward boy that had followed James, Remus, and himself around for the past decade had never seemed like a threat. Sirius had never liked him as much as his other friends, but he’d still been there. They’d grown up together, and it hurt to think that all the while the man had been plotting to turn on them. If only he had seen it coming.

Dumbledore had suspected a traitor on their side, and Sirius was ashamed to have thought it could ever be Remus. Remus was a good friend, but as a werewolf, he’d seemed the most likely to turn dark. He was disgusted with himself for ever thinking such things.

He should have seen what had been right in front of him. If he had, then his family would still be alive. The guilt threatened to tear him apart at times.

It was at those times, when he felt as if his chest would explode from the pain, that he could feel comforted by the image of Pettigrew writhing in agony at his feet, begging for mercy. Now, that dream would become reality.

That fucking rat was dying tonight. Sirius Black had never been more sure of anything in his life. After months of observation and preparation, he was confident that he could get the job done without much difficulty.

He was an expert on the castle now, inside and out, and everything ran like clockwork. Sirius knew that each night a different professor patrolled the halls, following the exact same route, and he knew exactly where they would be at exactly what time. Some nights, after Harry snuck back up to the tower, Sirius had been able to sneak into the castle in his animagus form. He’d hidden in the shadows, scoping out the territory for his plan. As a lad, he’d known the castle like the back of his hand, and after a week of wandering the inside for a few hours per night, all his past knowledge had flooded back to him.

From 1:00 to 2:00 AM the path to Gryffindor tower would be completely clear. It was Flitwick’s night, and neither he nor Mrs. Norris would be roaming near that part of the castle during that time. All Sirius had to do was sneak into Harry’s dormitory, kill Pettigrew, and then talk to Dumbledore. Albus was an open-minded man that would listen to reason, and he would see the truth. Sirius Black would be a free man by the time the sun came up.

During the previous night, he’d followed his godson to Gryffindor tower, and had clearly heard the password for the portrait hole: “Fortuna Major.”  He thought the Latin phrase was fitting, considering that it meant better luck. Being a part of Harry’s nightly strolls could not have been any luckier. His godson had provided him with the perfect way inside.

Not only had Harry helped him get one step closer to Pettigrew. Just being around the boy had helped him gain back his sanity. Years in Azkaban had left his mind feeling raw, but listening to his godson talk had helped him find a sense of clarity. The dark-haired child had awakened feelings of determination within him that went past simple plans of revenge. Capturing the rat would offer him a new chance at life with a family. He could start anew with Harry as his son.

He knew that Harry could use a mentor type figure in his life. In his animagus form, he’d been listening to the child’s musings for some time. The way the boy spoke sometimes was chilling. It was clear that Harry was stuck in a downhill spiral and was yearning for someone who would care for him. Sirius would be overjoyed to fill that position.

Harry had left in a hurry tonight, mumbling odd things that made Sirius feel uneasy. Lately, it wasn’t uncommon for the boy to only spend a few moments outside; it was getting colder as the season shifted to winter, and the shivering child could only stay so long before his fingertips were tinged with blue.

This visit though, was even more peculiar than usual. Harry had shown up hours earlier than normal, looking quite calm, which was especially unusual. In fact, he actually seemed relatively composed, and there was a glimmer of determination within his deep-green eyes that had never been there before. Something about his demeanor had immediately alerted Sirius that something was amiss.

The boy had acted as though he wouldn’t be back to visit him at night. Hopefully that meant that the kid would actually get some sleep for once. Sirius was saddened to hear that Harry wouldn’t be returning, but he knew that once Pettigrew was dead, he would be able to talk to Harry for real. Then he could develop an actual relationship with the child. These days, that was his new dream; Harry would be his family.

Sirius was slightly relieved to hear that Harry wouldn’t be in his dorm tonight. That way, he wouldn’t be there in case something went wrong with Peter. He would be safe. That was one less thing for him to worry about.

 _But why the hell was Harry going to the Astronomy tower?_ Sirius didn’t think that the boy had Astronomy class tonight. _Maybe an extra credit assignment?_

Sirius brushed off his suspicions, deciding to deal with them later. He could only focus on one thing right now: Pettigrew.

On four paws, Sirius crept quietly through the corridor to Gryffindor tower, staying alert with the help of his improved canine senses. He traced the familiar path to the common room and then transformed, being careful not to attract the attention of the snoozing fat lady. He whispered the password to the woman in the portrait. Without even opening her eyes, she allowed the door to swing open.

It didn’t take him long to find the door to the boy’s third year dormitory, as he remembered the room from his own stay at Hogwarts many years before. He stopped for a moment before reaching for the knob, taking a deep breath. Then the man pulled a shining, silver dagger from his pocket. This was it.

The knob turned beneath his gnarled fingers, revealing the darkened room. He could vaguely make out the shape of five four-poster beds, all but one with the curtains drawn. One boy seemed to be letting out growl-like snores, the only sound within the dorm. The sound brought a sense of nostalgia that took him back to a simpler time. Sirius smiled slightly thinking back to when he’d lain in this very room near James who had kept him up most nights with his snoring.

Peering around the room, Sirius squinted his eyes, attempting to make out the shape of a small rectangular cage that he suspected belonged to the Weasley boy. It was perched atop a large dresser on the far side of the dorm. Deftly maneuvering his way across the room, around piles of discarded robes and carelessly thrown textbooks, the man found himself in front of the wire cage… And it was empty.

 _If the rat wasn’t in his cage, then where the hell was he?_ _Had he somehow anticipated my arrival, and fled?_ Sirius began to panic, his whole plan seemingly in shambles. He had counted on Pettigrew being confined in the small cage, but he’d never thought that the rat might be anywhere else. He knew it would be impossible for him to make out the form of the tiny rat in the darkness, and he didn’t have much time.

Sirius forced himself to stay calm, taking in several deep breaths and willing his shaking hands to lay still at his sides.

 _Perhaps the rat isn’t confined to his cage at night_ , he speculated. He supposed that if the rat was allowed to run wild within the dormitory, it would still be possible to capture him, but he’d need to acquire a wand.

Just as he thought this, he spotted a wand of willow that had been left on one of the nightstands. Sirius picked it up and as silently as possible whispered, “Accio rat.”

Nothing happened. Dismayed by his revelation that after months of preparation, the rat was nowhere to be found, Sirius turned to place the wand back down. As he did, he noticed that the curtains around one bed lay open. Because the bed was empty, he assumed it had to belong to Harry.

He discovered a long piece of parchment sitting on the bedcovers, and filled with sudden curiosity, he reached his hand out to take it.

Sirius deduced it to be a lengthy letter and held it up so that the light of the moon from beyond the window could shine upon it.

**To whomever finds this letter,**

**You’ll probably be shocked when you learn what I’ve done. I don’t blame you. When I decided I had to do it, I was surprised as well. But don’t worry, it will be for the best.**

**Ron, Hermione, I want you guys to know that it isn’t you fault. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it. I want you to know that you were the best friends that I could have ever imagined. You were the closest thing to family that I ever had, and I’m so grateful for what you’ve done for me. I didn’t deserve you. There are many things that you’ll learn about me in this letter. Probably things that will shock you or make you think differently of me, and I don’t blame you. You never really knew me, but that wasn’t your fault. I hid a lot from everyone.**

**Before I get into why I did it, I want to clearly state how I wish to divide up my possessions. I want all of my money to be separated evenly between Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. I want Ron to have-**

_NO. NO. SHIT!_ Sirius finally realized exactly what he was reading and stopped abruptly, not bothering to finish the lengthy letter. He couldn’t believe that he’d missed the signs, that he hadn’t realized exactly what Harry had been telling him earlier. Harry was going to kill himself.

Sirius shoved the parchment into his pocket and turned to run from the room. He needed to get to his godson.

“AAAHHHHH!” A boy’s shrill scream echoed within the room, causing the other inhabitants to rouse from their sleep.

 _Shit!_ Sirius thought again, realizing what he looked like: A tall, mangy-looking man with wild, bloodshot eyes, holding a knife.

Soon, more adolescent screams erupted from the room, but Sirius was already out the door, heading for the portrait hole. He leapt out into the hall, exploding into his canine form. His four legs moved swiftly as he ducked into a secret passageway, intent on reaching Harry before it was too late.

The sound of screaming grew fainter as he ran, but he knew it was only a matter of time before a teacher would be alerted of his presence and then a castle-wide search would be performed. Sirius wasn’t sure if he had time to save his godson and himself, but if he could only save one, then it would have to be Harry. He’d already failed the boy enough.

But what could he say to him. How was he, an escaped prisoner, supposed to talk a boy that he barely knew out of killing himself. He had no idea what the boy had been through or why he felt this way. Sirius had no experience with talking someone down from a ledge, and he was barely able to keep himself alive. He supposed that he would just have to be honest with the child and hope that his words would be enough.

Sirius had only been running for a few minutes, but it felt like hours. His breath escaped in sharp gasps, but he willed himself to move faster. He could just make out the stairs to the Astronomy Tower in the distance. Using all his remaining strength, he barreled toward it.

At the top of the stairway, he froze. Straight up ahead, he could see the outline of a small child, huddling in the center of the room. The boy was faced away from Sirius, and he seemed to be rummaging for something in his bag. Sirius was relieved to know that he’d made it in time. Harry wasn’t anywhere near the balcony yet. There was more than enough time to talk some sense into him.

Sirius had expected the boy to approach the ledge and look out at the landscape below. He’d expected the child to climb overtop the balcony, stand up tall, and take one final breath. He’d expected Harry to jump.

Sirius hadn’t expected his godson to pull what appeared to be a gun out of his bag and place it to his head.

_Fuck._

He wouldn’t have known what the object was if not for Lily. Hanging around a muggleborn witch had provided him with some insight into the lives of average muggles. He’d been shocked the first time that Lily had shown him a television, but then he’d quickly fallen in love. His favorite thing to watch had been action movies. He and James would spend hours on the sofa watching epic scenes of violence and explosions until Lily would come out of the kitchen to scold them for “wasting their lives away.” 

But thanks to those informative and entertaining movies, he knew what his godson held. And he was scared shitless.

There was no time to waste. He knew that he had to do something. Without thinking of the potential consequences to his actions, Sirius transformed.

“Harry, No!” He shouted, surprised to hear his voice out loud for the first time in years. He sounded older and raspier than he remembered.

The boy stared at him, open-mouthed. The gun didn’t move from its position, but the boy’s unsteady hand started to shake.

Sirius wasted no time for his godson to reply.

“Put down the gun, Harry. I can help you.” He pleaded, desperate for the child to obey. The man expected Harry to remain silent, and he was surprised when a quiet voice answered him this time.

“No… No one can help me. It’ll be better this way,” Harry said, squaring his shoulders and steadying the gun firmer against his temple. The boy sounded determined, as if he genuinely believed that killing himself would somehow benefit everyone.

“You’re wrong.” Sirius paused, trying to find the words that would make Harry listen. “This will not make anything better. It won’t make any of the pain go away, you’ll only pass it on to the people who care about you.”

Sirius thought back to when he’d learned of James and Lily’s deaths. It opened up a gaping hole in his chest that still ached. He knew that just as they had, Harry’s absence would leave a similar mark on himself as well as others who knew and loved him.

“You don’t understand. No one will care.”

It broke the man’s heart to hear his godson’s feelings. _How could he believe that he was unloved?_

“Do you truly believe that? I know plenty of people who would care. Your friends, your teachers, your family-”

Harry cut him off. “My family. That’s a laugh,” he said chuckling mirthlessly. “The Dursley’s would love it if I was gone.”

During Harry’s late-night rants near the forest, Sirius had gotten the sense that there was no love between his godson and his muggle relatives. He seemed to remember Lily going on about her sister’s family more than once, implying that her sister disapproved of anything magical. It astounded Sirius that Harry was ever placed with them in the first place.

“I wasn’t talking about the Dursley’s. I was talking about your parents.” Sirius felt his eyes getting teary and a stab of pain shot through him once more at the thought of them. “God, they loved you so much.”

He envisioned James and Lily gazing down at their baby boy. He imagined their voices pleading at him to do something to save their son.

“Well they’re dead, so I guess it doesn’t matter much what they would think.” Harry spat angrily. “And if they truly loved me, I think they would have left me with someone who actually cared.”

“They did, Harry.” Sirius whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “They left you to me. I care.”

“What are you talking about?”

Sirius could tell that the boy was confused and growing more irritated by the second, but he didn’t think this was the time or place to tell him the entire story. He hoped that he could convey his feelings to the boy somehow.

“I’m your godfather, and I care. Please don’t do this,” He pleaded. “Give me the gun.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at Sirius, but the gun did not budge.

“Please, Harry. You’re all I have. Please don’t do this to me.” Sirius begged. The tears ran freely down his face now, spotting his striped uniform with small patches of wetness.

Harry seemed to be thinking over his words. Sirius saw several emotions flit over his godson’s pale face before settling on anger.

“If you’re my Godfather, where the hell have you been?” Harry spat, the rage and anguish evident in his voice.

Oh, how he wished that he could tell the boy everything. About James and Lily. About Pettigrew. About the night everything went to shit. Harry needed to know it all.

“I couldn’t be there when James and Lily died, but I’m here now. Please, just give me a chance to explain.”

“Why should I? This is my only chance, and if I don’t take it-”

Sirius cut the boy off. “If you do this, then I might as well do the same.”

“What?”

He was serious. If his godson were dead, then what the hell did he have left to live for? Without Harry, he had no reason to stay out of Azkaban. He had no reason to prove his innocence. He had no “You’re the only one I have left. Without you, I have nothing.”

Now, Harry appeared to be listening. His face was tense but curious. His eyes were wide and focused on Sirius. His grip on the weapon was looser, and his finger no longer hovered over the trigger.

“Really?”

“Yes. And I can help you. If you don’t want to stay here or with the Dursleys, you can come with me, right now. You don’t have to be alone anymore. We can run away together. I’ll be your family, Harry.”

Sirius imagined himself and his godson living on the run. They would get new disguises and identities, spelling each other to look unrecognizable. They would develop fake accents and have a laugh tricking the strangers they met. They would find a home and live out their lives, leaving the past behind them.

“You won’t want me. I’ve done bad things,” Harry said, staring glumly at the floor again.

“I’ve done some bad things too, Harry.” Sirius told him, thinking about his troubled past. Most of the world thought him to be a murderer for Merlin’s sake. If Harry could accept him, then there was nothing that would keep him from the kid. “I will want you no matter what. There is nothing that you could do that would make me not want you. I’ve loved you since you were a baby, and I promise that won’t change. I’ve heard you mention Lucius Malfoy and Snape, and whatever it is that you’ve done, I’ll help you.”

“You promise?” Harry said, the hope evident in his voice.

“Absolutely. We can discuss all of that later. Just give me the gun.”

Slowly, Harry shifted the gun away from his skull.

“That’s it. Just a little farther.”

The boy held out the weapon and Sirius snatched it from him, feeling relieved. For the first time since he’d discovered the note, he felt as if he could breath.

But then a figure appeared in the doorway, a spell shot out toward him, and the air from his lungs was gone again.


	25. Chapter 25

Severus Snape was not a person who often felt surprised. He was a knowledgeable man who always strived to be one step ahead of everyone around him. No matter the discovery, no matter the revelation, he always had some inclination of how he expected events to happen, and he was normally correct. However, the handful of times in his life that he had felt genuinely surprised had been because of Harry Potter. The first when he’d found out whom the prophecy referred to. The second when the infant Potter had vanquished the Dark Lord. The third when he’d learned that the boy was not a clone of his father. And the fourth was occurring right in front of him.

The boy-who-lived-to-surprise-him was huddled on the dirty stone floor of the astronomy tower, apparently frozen in shock, as Sirius Black, the convicted murderer, stood over him, positioning a gun to the child’s chest. They seemed to be locked in a staring contest with Harry gawking transfixed at Black, apparently too afraid to take action, and the convict, threatening to shoot the boy at the slightest sign of movement.

How the child had managed to get into such a situation, he hadn’t the faintest clue.

About ten minutes earlier, when Severus had first received the message that Sirius Black had broken into the castle and Harry Potter was missing, he’d been overcome with worry. His heart, which was rumored by some not to exist, had seemed to skip a beat, and he’d felt as though the ground had been swept out from under his feet. The fact that he was genuinely concerned for the brat’s well-being was disconcerting, but he hadn’t had time to dwell on his mysterious, newfound feelings for Potter.

Albus had instructed all the staff members to place wards around the students’ dormitories immediately, and then to search the castle for Harry. All exits to the castle had been locked down, and no one would be able to enter or exit Hogwarts. The Headmaster had made it clear that finding Harry was the top priority. The eyewitness students that had seen Sirius Black had insisted that Harry hadn’t been with the murderer, and it was vital that Harry was found by the staff before Black found him.

The Head of Slytherin had wasted no time in ensuring the safety of his students, but then he’d been intent on finding the young Gryffindor. Severus had sprinted from the dungeons to the main floor to meet up with the other heads of houses, and they were alerted by a portrait who claimed to have seen something scurrying up the staircase which led to the tallest tower. Severus had volunteered to check the astronomy tower, while Filius and Minerva worked on the rooms near the portrait. Taking the stairs two at a time, Severus had hoped that the woman in the portrait had been right, and that he wasn’t red-faced and out of breath for nothing. He exited the seemingly endless staircase and crept quietly down the short hallway.

Fortunately for him, the portrait had been correct in her assumption that Black had been on his way to the Astronomy Tower. Unfortunately, he found himself sneaking up on a very delicate situation that, if he acted incorrectly, could result in the death of a boy whom he was just beginning to care for.

Trying to keep his panting breaths silent and under control, Severus aimed his wand at the murderer. He hurled a wordless incarcerous at Black, hoping to catch him off guard. Black tendrils flew from his wand, ready to capture his target, but Black was prepared. In a flash, he rolled to the right and brought the loaded weapon up to point at the Potion Master.

Severus launched himself to the left, anticipating a bullet that never came. He was prepared to cast deadly spells at the murderer to prevent harm to Harry or himself, but Black, probably knowing that he had no chance, darted toward the door. Like a coward, the convict disappeared from view.

Torn between chasing down the convict and doing his duty to protect the boy who lived, Severus conjured his patronus and sent it to alert the other teachers and the headmaster before placing a protective ward around the room. By the time Black had made it down the lengthy staircase, several staff members would be waiting to apprehend him. As much as Severus wanted to be the one who was responsible for Black’s capture, he found himself worrying more about the state of the Potter brat.

Harry was still hunched over on the floor, cradling his knees to his chest. His face was ghostly pale, and his eyes were wide as saucers. Several months ago, Severus would have been overjoyed to see Potter with that expression. He probably would have taunted the child, trying to get a rise out of him. But now, he had no malicious intentions toward the boy.

“Are you alright?” He asked, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

Harry nodded slowly, but he didn’t move from his position. The expression on the child’s face was peculiar. He didn’t appear relieved to be free from the murderer’s presence. There was a strange emotion. Maybe confusion? Perhaps disappointment?

Severus moved toward the boy, offering him a hand. Harry seemed surprised by his gesture, but he took the man’s hand and allowed help pulling himself to his feet. They stood in tense silence for several minutes, lost in the absurdity of the situation before Harry spoke in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Who was that man?”

“That,” he said pausing for a moment, “was Sirius Black.”

“That was Sirius Black?” Harry said incredulously. “The murderer who wants me dead?”

“Obviously,” Severus drawled, suppressing the instinctual eye roll.

How many Sirius Blacks did the boy know? Who else would break in to the castle with a gun to kill him? It was preposterous that the boy hadn’t pieced together the man’s identity already. Severus had to remind himself not to make a remark about the boy’s stupidity; at least not to his face. _Idiot child._

“Are you sure?” Harry asked, his eyebrows furrowed in consternation as if trying to solve a difficult equation.

The Potion’s master huffed but did not bother to offer a response. There were much more important things to discuss, and he wouldn’t waste his breath for stupid questions.

“What were you doing out of your dormitory tonight?” Severus inquired.

“What?” the boy replied dully, as if he hadn’t been listening at all.

“Why were you roaming the castle in the middle of the night?” Severus growled, irritated by the brat’s actions. He could have been killed.

Harry seemed to be thinking over his reply, and Severus steeled himself, waiting for the lie that would surely protrude from the boy’s mouth.

“I couldn’t sleep, and I decided to take a walk,” the boy replied slowly.

Severus believed that Harry couldn’t sleep; that was obvious from the boy’s appearance and recent demeanor. But there was still something the boy wasn’t saying, something that he was keeping secret. Eventually, Severus knew that he would learn the truth, but he supposed that Harry deserved some time to relax after his most recent escape from death. The boy would be questioned more thoroughly by the headmaster after the castle was cleared anyway.

They waited for about an hour, staring silently up at the star-filled sky, until Albus’s patronus arrived, delivering the message that the castle had been searched, no one had been injured, and Black had escaped. The headmaster requested for Severus and Harry to meet him in his office to discuss the night’s events as soon as possible.

Severus was distressed to hear that Black had escaped, but he fought to keep his face cool and impassive. He wanted Harry to be calm enough to relay the story, and he couldn’t afford to wind the boy up again.

Inside though, Severus was more than irritated. _How the hell did Black escape?_ There was no way that the man could have made it down the stairs without being caught, as he knew Filius and Minerva had been near the staircase, and even if he had, all exits to the castle had been locked. There would have been nowhere for Black to run.

The whole night was one big mystery.

And Harry’s explanations to Headmaster Dumbledore didn’t make it any clearer.

“So, Harry, how did you come across Sirius Black?” Albus asked, after Harry and Severus had settled into the man’s office for tea.

The boy hesitated for a moment and adjusted his position in the oversized armchair, as if deciding how much of his story to reveal. Then he raised his head, and in a failed attempt to appear honest, he replied, “I was just out taking a walk, sir.”

“A walk?” The Headmaster said, raising an eyebrow. “You know it’s against the rules to wonder the castle at night, my boy.”

“Yes. I know,” Harry said, hanging his head. “You see, I’ve been having some trouble sleeping, so I sneak out at night sometimes. It helps me…” he paused, as if searching for the right words. “Um… Clear my head I guess.”

“And on this walk, you just so happened to run into Sirius Black?” The old man asked, a calculating look upon his face.

“Yes, sir. I was walking up the stairs to the tower, and he just appeared out of nowhere.”

Albus threw a skeptical look at Severus, who gave him an equally exasperated expression. It was clear that the Headmaster didn’t think that Harry was telling the complete truth either.

“I see,” the Headmaster replied. “Could you tell me what happened next, Harry?”

The old man’s twinkling, blue eyes, gazed intently at the small boy, who was fidgeting nervously in his seat.

“Well, it’s just like I said,” Harry continued. “Black saw me, and he pulled me into the Astronomy tower. I didn’t really understand what was going on. And then he stared at me for awhile like he was waiting for something, but then Professor Snape came in, and he ran away.”

The child was stumbling over his words, and his story came out like a badly rehearsed line in a play. Severus couldn’t remain quiet any longer. He needed answers.

“What about the gun?” Severus inquired sharply.

“Huh?”

“The gun, Potter. Don’t you think that it is a pretty important part of the story?” Severus said, sounding a bit angrier than he meant to. He saw the boy cower a bit at the use of his surname and decided to try again. “What happened when Black pulled out the gun, Harry?”

“Well… He just sort of stood there.” Harry answered slowly. “He didn’t shoot me or anything.”

“Obviously,” The Potion Master said. “Did he say anything to you? Did he try to harm you in any other way? Was there anything odd that happened that might help us find him?”

“No,” Harry answered a bit too quickly, making his answer seem dishonest.

Why was the boy keeping his encounter with Black a secret? It made no sense to Severus, and he could tell that Professor Dumbledore was equally perplexed. The small Gryffindor with the unkempt hair refused to give them any clearer answers. Though they tried to get him to reveal more, his descriptions never got any better, and it became obvious that the child had decided to keep his knowledge to himself.

After a while, the Headmaster seemed to realize this as well.

“Alright, Harry, that’s enough for tonight. I think it goes without saying that going on your night walks are forbidden for your safety. I also think it would be wise to make sure you are supervised between classes and trips throughout the castle. Professor McGonagill is waiting outside to walk you back to Gryffindor Tower. Try and get some rest, my boy.” Albus told the child wearily.

Harry rose from his chair and tottered out of sight. Once the boy was out of earshot, Albus spoke again.

“He’s hiding something, Severus.”

“I know… I think he’s been hiding many things.” Severus replied, seriously. “Is there any reason that the boy would have to try and protect Black?”

“I don’t think so. You said that the man pointed a gun at him. I seriously doubt that Harry would want to protect **Sirius**.” The Headmaster said, emphasizing the word Sirius. The implication he made was clear.

“So, you think that the boy is lying to protect himself…” Severus said, agreeing with the man.

“Indeed,” replied Albus. He seemed to be thinking something over, and then he said, “I’ve noticed that your relationship with Harry has improved this year.”

“Yes. We have overcome some of our difficulties,” Severus told him, wondering what he was getting at.

“Well then, I think you will be the perfect person to find out what really happened tonight. I want you to observe Harry closely, and try to get him to open up.” Albus stated, a slight twinkle in his eyes.

“And how do you expect me to do that? As you know, I am not great with children,” he grumbled. “My temper makes it especially hard to get through a conversation with brats, especially Potter.”

“Oh, I think you’ll do just fine, Severus,” the old man said, smiling brightly at the man’s sour expression.


	26. Chapter 26

Harry was perplexed.

Not only had his suicide plot been foiled, but he’d been interrupted by a man, whom he’d thought to be a dog, who turned out to be the famous murderer, Sirius Black. And Sirius Black had wanted to save his life, not end it.

Why must his life be so complicated?

None of the pieces seemed to fit together inside his head. If Sirius wanted him dead, then why hadn’t he killed him? There had been numerous opportunities for the man to kill him late at night, when Harry had believed him to be a harmless, stray dog, but the dog had never harmed him. On the contrary, the dog had comforted him.

He’d shared his thoughts and feelings with the canine, believing that the animal could not understand him. All the while, the man had been listening. That thought unnerved him a bit. He didn’t appreciate being eavesdropped on. But still, the man had never harmed him.

Even if Sirius hadn’t wanted to murder him directly, he could have just allowed Harry to finish the job himself. The boy had been so close to pulling the trigger when the man had burst in the room, looking frantic.

But everyone claimed Sirius Black was after Harry. They insisted that he needed more protection in the castle. The headmaster and teachers seemed worried for his safety. They believed that Harry was in danger, but he wasn’t. Well, at least not from Sirius Black.

Sirius had said that he loved him, and Harry wasn’t sure if it was the look in the man’s eyes, the sincerity of his words, or the utter desperation for the escaped prisoner to keep the boy alive, but Harry believed him.

He could only come to one conclusion: The wizarding world was wrong about Sirius Black.

Perhaps it was a bit like his second year, when the entire school had believed him to be the heir of Slytherin. Being a parselmouth was enough to make his classmates turn on him, believing Harry to be an evil wizard intent on purging the school of muggleborns. It hadn’t taken many rumors for the school to believe that. Was the whole of wizarding society just as easy to jump to conclusions?

Harry suspected that they were, but he didn’t want to be like them. He wanted to know the truth.

Though he hadn’t managed to kill himself, Harry was content not to act again until he knew if Sirius had been truthful. He would meet Sirius Black again, and he hoped that the man would be able to answer all his questions. If the escaped prisoner had been honest that night in the tower, then Harry was hopeful the man’s offer to run away could become a reality. Life wouldn’t be so terrible anymore.

And if the man had been lying and he wanted to see Harry dead, then that was that.

Harry laid back into his bed, staring at the ceiling, his breathing even and his body calm. He felt hope sprouting somewhere deep within him. For the first time since he was a small child, he imagined what it would be like having someone who cared. A dreary smile settled onto his face as his mind explored the possibilities.

            A few hours later, after waking up from a short but satisfying nap, Harry clambered toward the common room, feeling tired of lying in the silence. He was bombarded by voices, shrieks, and giggles, as he made his way down the stairs. Most of the Gryffindors seemed to be waiting in there, though Harry wasn’t sure why. Most of the time, students were out around the castle during the afternoons.

            At his entrance, nearly every face turned up to meet his, and they started whispering. He made out the name Sirius Black from several different conversations and realized that the students did not have any idea what really happened last night. They must have known that Harry was involved though, judging by their curious stares.

Surprisingly, no one asked him about it. He wondered if McGonagill had forbidden them to assault Harry with questions. Or maybe they were just used to him ignoring them by now. Either way, Harry searched for an empty seat in the crowd of people, finally sitting down at a table near the door. He saw Ron a few chairs down, speaking to Seamus. At first, Harry thought he too was gossiping about Black, but instead he heard his old friend mention his pet rat, Scabbers.

“And you’re sure you haven’t seen him? I know he was in my pocket before lunch yesterday, but then he just disappeared.” Ron told him, sounding concerned.

“No, Weasley. I haven’t seen your rat. Aren’t you more concerned about Sirius Black? I mean he nearly killed us all last night!” Seamus exclaimed impatiently.

“I know,” Ron huffed, scrunching his freckled face in disappointment. “That’s all anyone has been talking about all day. I just thought maybe you’d seen Scabbers.”

Harry knew that even though Ron complained about his pet often, he cared about his rat. It wasn’t often that Ron had gotten special things or new possessions growing up, so he tended to treasure the things he was offered. The rat may have been a fat, useless lump, but he was Rons.

“Scabbers is missing?” Harry chimed in, feeling a little awkward.

Ron turned toward him, looking shocked that Harry had said anything.

“Erm… Yeah. I haven’t seen him since yesterday. I think Malfoy might have taken him.” Ron said slowly, as if waiting for Harry to go back to ignoring him.

“Why would Malfoy take him?” Harry questioned.

Ron got up from his chair by Seamus and moved it several feet over, so it sat next to Harry.

“Well, he’s been even more of a git than usual, and yesterday, I had Scabbers out in the courtyard with Hermione. She was helping me with transfiguration because lately our lessons make absolutely no sense.” Ron said energetically, seeming excited to be talking to Harry. Then, getting back to his original topic, he continued. “Anyway, Malfoy came up to us, spewing nonsense about my family again, and then, he insulted Scabbers. I hardly think it’s a coincidence that he would go missing right after Malfoy went on about him.”

“Yeah. That is suspicious,” Harry replied. “Malfoy’s probably just mad because Snape gave him detention with Filch.”

“WHAT?” Ron bellowed animatedly. “Snape gave Malfoy detention? What for?”

Talking to Ron again, Harry was surprised how normal he felt. The tension and awkwardness had faded quickly, and now, it was almost as if he hadn’t been distant all year. It was nice.

“Well,” Harry started, feeling excited to fill Ron in about Malfoy, “The git attacked me in the hallway yesterday with Crabbe and Goyle after class.”

“That bastard! I’ll hex him for you, mate,” Ron interrupted, a dark expression on his face.

“It’s alright. Just listen to what happened next,” Harry told him. “He hit me with the knockback jinx when I was right on the edge of the staircase and-”

“What? Is he insane?” The ginger roared.

“Just listen,” Harry insisted, smiling. “I almost smacked into the wall, but Snape saved me. Don’t interrupt!” He laughed, seeing Ron open his mouth to speak again. “Snape was really mad at Malfoy. Said I could have been really hurt, and then he shouted about how he could have had them suspended and gave them detention with Filch for a month! It was brilliant!”

“Snape did that?” Ron inquired, gaping at him. “Has he been possessed or something?”

“No. He’s actually been pretty decent to me lately. Not sure why.”

“Wow… I still can’t believe Malfoy. I mean, dueling is one thing, but…” his voice trailed off.

“Yeah, I know. I think he was a little surprised too. I guess he thought I would dodge it.” Harry explained.

“Well, why didn’t you?” Ron asked, his tone serious again.

“I just wasn’t expecting it, I guess,” Harry lied. “My reflexes just weren’t fast enough.”

“Huh… Well, we’ll get Malfoy. There’s no way I’m letting him get away with taking Scabbers and attacking you. Detention with Filch isn’t enough.” Determination glinting in his blue eyes, Ron continued. “Fred and George have been cooking up something for a while. I bet if I told them, they would help us.”

“Okay,” Harry said, feeling excited at the prospect of thwarting Malfoy.

“They’re in class right now. Charms, I think, but I’ll tell them right after.”

“Alright,” Harry told him. “So, what else have I missed?”

Ron beamed.

He went on to tell Harry all about the Quidditch match that was supposed to have been that morning. It had gotten cancelled due to “the incident” but was rescheduled for a week from today. Ron seemed to enjoy filling Harry in on everything. After the topic of quidditch was done, he went on to relay the events from the first Hogsmeade visit, which Harry had been unable to attend due to his lack of permission form, and then to each of their classes which were, according to Ron, “trying to drive them all mad.” Harry listened with rapt attention, finding himself interested in the goings on at Hogwarts. He’d missed so much.

Eventually, Ron ran out of things to tell him, and their conversation moved toward Sirius Black. Ron’s face went a shade paler as he spoke.

“I woke up, and he was standing over your bed, with a crazed look on his face. And he had a knife, Harry. If I hadn’t woken up, he’d probably have killed us all.” He paused for a moment, looking pensive.

Harry was even more confused now. Why would Sirius have gone to his dormitory. And why would he have a knife. Was he really planning to hurt him?

 “It’s a good thing you were gone, mate. When I saw your bed was empty, I assumed you were wondering the castle again.” Ron said slowly.

Harry shot him a look of surprise.

“Yeah. I knew what you were doing. I woke up about every night and noticed you were gone, but you were always back the next morning, so I figured you just wanted some space… But last night, I was so worried he would find you.”

“He did,” Harry whispered.

“He did? McGonagill didn’t tell us that! But how are-“

“How am I still alive?” Harry guessed. “Well, I don’t really think he wanted to kill me.”

Harry saw an image of the sobbing man, pleading for him to keep living.

“What?” Ron sounded flabbergasted.

“He could have, but he didn’t. A lot happened last night, Ron. And I can’t tell you all of it right now, but I think people are wrong about him. I don’t think he wanted to hurt me…”

They sat in silence for a moment, neither knowing what to say.

“Don’t tell anyone what I said. I couldn’t even tell Dumbledore,” Harry pleaded.

“But why?” Ron whispered, sounding intrigued.

“I really can’t say right now. Just promise me.”

“Okay… I promise.”

Harry smiled softly at the red-haired boy. Ron truly was an amazing friend. He was suddenly glad that he hadn’t said goodbye to him in a note. Ron didn’t deserve to find out that way.

“So, are you ready to go to lunch?” Ron asked in a lighter tone.

Harry looked up and realized that most of the common room was empty.

“Sure,” Harry told him. “But first I have to get a prefect to come with me. I’m not allowed to go anywhere alone. Dumbledore’s orders.” He muttered glumly.

“Well Percy’s over there,” Ron said, gesturing to his older brother. “I’m sure he’d walk with us."

The lanky-looking red head was perched in a chair near the fire with an enormous textbook spread over his lap. He appeared to be in a rather bad mood.

“Percy!” Ron called.

The head Boy’s eyes darted over to look at Ron.

“What, Ronald? I’m rather busy,” he insisted, giving his brother an irritated look.

When Ron told Percy that Harry needed an escort because Dumbledore had requested it, the older boy was suddenly much happier to assist them. He seemed to think that he was fulfilling an important duty for the headmaster, and it was just another way for him to display his power and superiority.

In the Great Hall, the stares and whispers were even more noticeable. In fact, most people didn’t even bother to whisper. They talked about Harry as if they didn’t care that he could hear them. Harry ignored them as he was used to it by now.

Hermione joined them several minutes later and looked shocked to see Harry sitting with Ron instead of by himself. When Harry greeted her as she sat down, her face broke into an elated grin and she embraced him in a hug.

“Oh, Harry! I was so worried about you! No one knew where you were last night! How could you just disappear like that? I thought you might be…” The girl let out a sob, and Harry patted her back awkwardly. He wasn’t exactly comfortable with the physical contact, but he knew Hermione meant well.

“It’s okay, Hermione. I’m alright,” he told her, shooting a look at Ron that said ‘what am I supposed to do?’

Ron shrugged, and then came to Harry’s rescue. “Maybe you should get off of him and let him speak, Hermione,” he told her, chuckling and shoving a meat-filled sandwich into his mouth.

Hermione lurched away from him abruptly. “Sorry, Harry. I was just so worried.” She said, in an embarrassed voice.

“I know. It’s okay.” He told her.

She stared at him, as if waiting for him to give an explanation of last night. He was getting rather tired of answering questions, but he didn’t want to upset her.

“Um… Like I told Ron earlier, there are some things I can’t tell you right now,” he said to Hermione, thinking over his words carefully. “I have some things I need to find out, and I can’t tell you why, but I really need your help, Hermione.”

“You need my help?” She asked, sounding slightly suspicious.

“Yes. I need to find out more about Sirius Black. You’re the best at finding information. You think you could go to the library and find out as much as you can about him?”

“I don’t understand,” Hermione replied. “You’ve barely spoken to us this year. Last night, Black breaks into the castle, and no one has any idea where you are. And now, you’re acting better, but something is still off, and you want to know about Black. Can I have a little more information? Can you please just tell me why?”

“I just… I can’t right now. I promise, I’ll tell you eventually, but this is really important. I don’t think Sirius Black is who they say he is, and I need you to help me. Please,” he pleaded.

“Alright,” she said after a moment, sounding hesitant. “But you’ll tell me soon?”

“Yes,” Harry agreed.

“And you’re back now, right. You’re not just gonna shut us out again?” Ron asked warily.

“Yes.”

Harry hoped that he would keep his promises, but he wasn’t sure. There were so many things that he didn’t want his friends to find out about. They’d think of him differently if they knew; he didn’t want that.

If Sirius wasn’t who he claimed to be, then Harry would still want to follow through with his original plan, so it was imperative that no one find out what he’d almost done last night. He just had to keep his secrets a little longer.

They spent the rest of the afternoon searching around for Scabbers, reluctantly dragging the head boy along with them, but they found no trace of the rat. Later that evening, after saying goodbye to Ron and Hermione, Percy ushered Harry down to the dungeons for his meeting with Snape. He’d received a note at supper that the man wished to meet with him, and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

Harry wasn’t sure what to expect from the Potion Master, but he hoped that he wouldn’t be interrogated for the next two hours.

Percy led him down the staircase, yelling at a group of rowdy second years as they passed. Harry spotted Malfoy sprawled on his hands and knees scrubbing the floor while Filch stood over him shouting orders. Draco snarled furiously at Harry as he passed, and Harry offered him a slight smirk, remembering Ron’s plan.

Waiting in front of Snape’s door, Harry thanked Percy, who assured him he would be back in two hours to take him back to Gryffindor tower. _Lovely_ , he thought. Harry was already very tired of the head boy.

He knocked three times upon the door, and pulled it open when he heard a murmured, “enter.”

Inside, Snape was perched behind his desk, and he motioned for Harry to take a seat at a table in the front row.

“Do not look so miserable, Mr. Pot- I mean Harry. This is not a detention. You won’t be scrubbing cauldrons,” Snape said, in a light-hearted tone.

Harry attempted to wipe the grimace off his face, but he still felt as though Snape would dig into him at any moment, asking questions and demanding answers. Snape and Dumbledore had asked him plenty last night, and he hadn’t answered much. He didn’t plan to do anything different tonight. Snape could question him, but his responses would be the same.

“You’re probably wondering why you’re here,” Snape stated impassively.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. It was nothing new for him to be forced into situations for no reason. He already had to deal with pointless meetings enough. First with Madame Pomfrey, second with the headmaster, and now, with Snape.

He expected Snape to be angry with his lack of responses by now, but the man still seemed composed. The Professor was staring at him with a calculating look, and Harry felt slightly unnerved.

He was angry at Snape for interrupting him last night. Just as Harry had begun to connect with Sirius, Snape had burst into the room, shooting spells. If he hadn’t come, Harry could have learned the whole story from his godfather, and then maybe they’d have gone on the run together. Now, because of Snape, he was left without any way to contact the man.

“Well, what’s this about then?” He asked, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.

“I had mentioned yesterday at your detention that I would be requesting regular meetings with you,” Snape explained.

“And what am I supposed to be doing at these meetings?”

“Well, I thought that we would talk for a while, and then you could finish some of your classwork. The headmaster has informed me that you’ve fallen behind in most of your classes. Hopefully, I’ll be able to help you with any material that you haven’t understood.”

Snape appeared to be sincere, but Harry still didn’t feel like cooperating. Out of all his teachers, why had Snape been the one to intervene? The man had seemed to be lurking around every corner lately, as if waiting for Harry. It was getting old.

“Alright, let’s get on with the questions then,” Harry declared. He wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“Questions?” Snape asked, sounding puzzled.

“You said you wanted to talk. I assume that means you’re going to ask me about last night again. Even though I already told you what happened about a dozen times.”

“I assure you that interrogating you was not my intention when I requested this meeting,” Snape muttered, wiping a bit of greasy hair out of his eyes. “I intended to try and help you, not inconvenience you.”

“Well, I don’t feel much like talking right now,” Harry said in a quieter voice.

“Very well,” Snape told him. “I suggest you get to work on some of your essays. If you need assistance, I’ll be over here.”

Harry went to work right away, pleased that Snape had possessed the decency to leave him alone. He pulled his transfiguration book from his bag, deciding to start on the essay he’d listened to Ron complain about earlier.

He read over the chapter once. Then, still not sure what to write, he read over the same passage again. He was stumped. Scrunching his face in consternation, he fumbled through several pages of his book, trying to understand the method and implications of transforming objects into rabbits with the Lapifors charm.

He understood the basics of the spell. The problem was, he wasn’t sure how the spell would be very useful. McGonagill wanted two feet of parchment on possible uses for the charm, possible dangers associated with it, and how the caster can control the rabbit. Nothing in the textbook answered any of his questions though.

Deciding that rereading the chapter would be useless, he shut his book and rested his head on his hands, pondering the questions. Nothing was really coming to him though. _Why the hell would anyone need to transfigure an object into a rabbit. That’s useless!_ His thoughts soon turned into daydreams again, and he saw himself and Sirius running from the law and living on the run.

Sirius would help Harry escape from the castle, and then they’d run to the muggle world. Harry still had all his muggle money from the summer. They could stay in hotels or rent a house. They’d tell each other everything, and Sirius could teach him about his Mum and Dad. If anyone ever came for them, Sirius could transform into a dog, and Harry could hide under the invisibility cloak. It would be like one big adventure.

Harry was lost in his imagination, when Snape shuffled over to his desk.

“Harry, I did not bring you here to waste time. Is there a reason you’re staring off into space?”

“Sorry. I just didn’t no what to write, and then I kinda zoned out,” Harry explained, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“Did I not inform you that I was here to help if you had questions,” Snape scoffed. “What are you stuck on?”

Slowly, Harry explained his problem to the professor. He expected Snape to snarl at him for being stupid, but instead, he clearly explained the solution to Harry.

“Suppose you had something to hide,” Snape said. “In that situation, the charm would be helpful because you could conceal the object. Anyone who saw it would believe it to be a rabbit. Or if you needed to create a diversion, you could use any object to make a rabbit that would distract someone. Can you see how that would be useful?”

“I guess so,” Harry said slowly.

“Now, what would be some issues when using the charm?”

“Well… I guess if you made something important into a rabbit and it hopped away,” Harry guessed.

“Exactly. The rabbits created by the charm are often difficult to control. They can be maneuvered, but you have to use a slightly different wand movement when casting the spell. It is more difficult and time consuming. Does that help?” Snape asked him, staring down at him intently.

“Erm. Yeah. Thanks,” Harry said, feeling bad for being rude to the man earlier. Snape was genuinely trying to help him, and Harry had been acting like a brat.

“No problem. Anything else?”

“Well, you said we could talk earlier,” Harry began.

“And?”

“I had a question,” Harry said. Snape shot a look at him that said to continue. “Well you were in school with my Dad, so you must have been in school with Sirius Black too.”

“I was,” Snape replied slowly.

“Was Sirius friends with my mum and dad? I mean, before he….” Harry trailed off not wanting to say that he killed them. For all he knew, Black had not done anything of the sort.

“During their years at Hogwarts, many would say that your father and Sirius Black,” He said, snarling at their names. “were close. They ran around in a little gang, tormenting other students.”

Harry knew that Snape was biased against his father. Even if they had been adversaries, Harry doubted his Dad had been that terrible. No one else had ever had a bad thing to say about the man.

“And after Hogwarts?”

“From what I’ve heard, they kept in touch after school,” Snape explained.

“Then why would he turn on them? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I won’t pretend to understand the mind of Sirius Black.” Snape sneered. Then, softening his expression, he asked, “did Black say something about your parents?”

Harry wanted more than anything to tell Snape that Sirius hadn’t wanted to harm him. He needed to prove that Sirius wasn’t dangerous, that everyone was wrong about the man. But then, how would he explain the gun?

“No, sir.” Harry replied sullenly.

He had to keep quiet about what he knew; he had no other options. Harry sighed as Snape turned and moved back behind his desk. For the remainder of his meeting, he worked silently.

Harry returned to Gryffindor tower about an hour before curfew. He fled up to his dormitory, telling Ron he was tired and wanted to get some extra sleep. Ron hadn’t questioned him.

He had just changed into his night clothes when a sharp “clink” broke through the silence, making him jump. His head darted to the side and he recognized Hedwig lightly tapping her beak against the window. Jumping to his feet, Harry slid the heavy window open, and the magnificent snowy owl soared inside, clutching a note within her sharp talons. Harry stared at her dumbly for a moment. He hadn’t been expecting a letter.

It took him a moment of contemplation, trying to come up with a reason that anyone would have sent him a letter at this time of night before he finally reached over and snatched the note from Hedwig.

Harry stared down at the small piece of parchment, not recognizing the messy handwriting.

 

**I know you must be confused, but I need you to know that I was being honest with you. I do care for you, and I want you to be safe and happy. I can’t tell you where I am right now, but know that I have found a place to hide for the time being. There are so many things that I need you to understand, but unfortunately, I don’t think it would be safe to send those things in a letter. I want to explain everything to you in person.**

**I read the note you left on your bed. I know it wasn’t for me, and I’m sorry. Please don’t do anything to harm yourself. I know you’re hurting and feel like things won’t get better, but please allow me to try and help.**

**I urge you not to send a reply as it might reveal my hiding place. Keep your eyes open for another letter soon.**

**Just have faith and hold on a little longer.**

 

The letter wasn’t signed, but Harry knew it was from his godfather. He beamed, laying down in his bed and clutching the letter to his chest. He fell asleep with the piece of parchment still tucked tightly within his closed fist.


	27. Chapter 27

Harry stared out the open window, watching, waiting, hoping. More than anything, he wanted to see Hedwig soaring toward him with another message from Sirius. Ever since his godfather’s last note, Harry had been waiting patiently for his next letter. But so far, nothing…

He watched quietly for a few more minutes, transfixed by the magnificent landscape that Hogwarts had to offer. From his viewpoint he could see rolling green hills that led up to the vegetation-ridden forest and the crystal blue lake, shimmering with morning rays of sunlight. In the distance, he could see a group of students hurdling down the path toward the wizarding village.

It was a Hogsmeade weekend, and therefore, almost every student above third year had exited the castle early this morning, eager to explore. Harry had been forbidden to go because he hadn’t bothered trying to get his aunt or uncle to sign his permission form; they would have never considered it. If something brought Harry joy, it was an automatic no.

Ron and Hermione had offered to stay behind, but Harry had insisted that they go on without him. He could find no reason that they had to miss out on something fun because of him, and after several days of spending nearly every spare moment with his friends, he was craving some alone time. Harry insisted that he still had a lot of work to catch up on, and they’d agreed to go to the village for a few hours. Once they’d left, he’d allowed his happy mask to slip into a more withdrawn expression. He was feeling much better than he had during the last several weeks, but he still wasn’t the Harry that they knew from the past two years; he had changed.

His eyes flickered over the last line of Sirius’s message again, “ **Have faith and hold on a little longer.** ” _I can do that,_ he thought. _I can have faith._

Stowing the worn letter back into his pocket, Harry lifted himself from his position at the window and stared around his empty dormitory. There was no reason for him to waste any more time here. If Sirius wrote him another message, Hedwig would find him. He just needed to find something to fill his time with today. As the castle was mostly barren, Harry was overcome with the possibilities.

Lately, his days had been crammed with scheduled activities, but as it was Saturday, Harry was free to do whatever he liked. No classes were in session during the weekends, and he was only required to meet with Snape on weekdays.

Harry was relieved that he didn’t have to see Snape again tonight, but he had to admit that his meetings with Professor Snape were certainly helpful. Though they hadn’t talked much after his first session, for the past three nights, Harry had worked diligently for several hours in the potion’s classroom. Whenever he had a question or didn’t understand something, he’d call Snape over. The man would calmly lead him through solving whatever problem he was having, providing helpful examples and tips. Thanks to Snape, he had been able to get through all of his Transfiguration work, most of the way through Charms, and had even gotten some help studying for his upcoming Potion’s quiz. With the end of the Fall term drawing nearer, it was beneficial to be catching back up on his studies.

He occasionally felt Snape’s patience with him slipping. HIs eyebrows would narrow, and his mouth would morph into a scowl, but then the man would suck in a breath and the cool, calm expression would return. It was obvious that he was doing everything he could to keep his temper under control. Harry appreciated the professor’s effort, but he was still keeping his distance from the man.

Aside from academics, Harry had kept all his conversations with Snape short and mundane. Snape’s comments about Black had only discouraged Harry, who wanted more than anything to find proof that Sirius wasn’t dangerous.

Though Hermione had been doing her best to find information for him, she hadn’t uncovered anything of use. Harry had seen her yesterday evening, studying the article that described the man’s incarceration. She seemed to believe that Sirius had to have murdered those muggles. According to her, “all the evidence points to him. There were multiple witnesses, Harry!” But Harry refused to give up hope; hope was the only thing keeping him going.

Though he hadn’t received any word from Sirius since his last letter, he was just relieved that the man was safe. Over the course of the last few days, Harry had firmly decided that Sirius was telling him the truth. And if Sirius loved him as much as he had claimed to, then he was sure the man would find a way to get to him soon. Harry wanted to search the grounds late at night, looking for the bulky, black canine, but that wasn’t an option, and he doubted that Sirius would be wondering outside anyway.

As part of the new safety precautions, the entrance to the Gryffindor common room was now locked from the inside and outside after curfew. Only important members of the staff, like Dumbledore or McGonagill would be able to enter through the portrait hole until morning. Unfortunately for Harry, this meant that he was always confined in Gryffindor tower at night, with no way to escape.

Thankfully, his nightmares had been much less severe during the last few nights. Even when he woke up sweating and terrified, feeling the weight of an invisible man lying limply on top of him, the thought of Sirius taking him away was enough to lull him back to sleep. For this reason, he had much more energy than he’d had during the past few months. The bags under his eyes were less noticeable, and his body felt somewhat rejuvenated.

In addition to his improved sleeping habits, he found it much easier to eat. On Madame Pomfrey’s orders, he’d been eating as he should and taking his nutrient potions, and it was obvious he was making progress. He had gained nearly a whole stone. Lately though, he wasn’t just eating to appease the mediwitch; he actually felt like eating. The painful knot that had been twisting within his stomach had disappeared, leaving him able to enjoy food again.

 Harry felt as though he was making an enormous amount of progress in a miniscule amount of time, and he knew it was all due to Sirius. Knowing that he had a reason to live, was enough for Harry to put in effort. He knew it was silly, but he wanted to make the man proud. Sirius had been watching him for months, seeing him slowly deteriorate into a zombie, but he didn’t want the man to see him that way anymore. He wanted to make a good impression.

Just because he was willing to put in the effort to act proper, didn’t mean he was magically healed. Harry knew that he had many unresolved issues, but he hoped that, with Sirius’s help, he might overcome them.

That is, if Sirius was who he said he was. It could have all been a big lie. Sirius could be fooling him. Harry’s stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought.

No… No. Harry couldn’t afford to think like that. Sirius loved him, and he was going to save him. That was the truth, and he refused to think otherwise.

Each time Harry had a negative thought, he forced himself to think this way. Sirius would come. Sirius would save him. Sirius would love him. It had to be true.

Harry crept down to the common room, feeling relieved when he noticed it was mostly empty. Percy Weasley had been driving him crazy. The older boy always insisted on escorting him around the castle now, and it was nearly impossible to sneak out without him. He turned his head left and right, making sure that the head boy was not in the room, but there were only a few first years playing a game of wizard’s chess. Harry exited the portrait hole and slipped his invisibility cloak overtop of himself.

He thought back to last night’s meeting with the Potions Professor, and a slight smile appeared on his face. He knew what he could do.

During the previous night, just as Harry had gotten up to leave Snape’s classroom, the man had reached out to him.

“Harry,” he’d called. “If you wish to learn more about your father, from a more positive perspective, you might ask Lupin.”

“Professor Lupin knew my Dad?”

“Indeed. If I remember correctly, they were fairly close friends,” The professor had replied casually.

“Thank you, sir.” He had said, offering Snape a grateful smile as he’d exited the room.

Just the thought of finding out more about his father put Harry in an uncharacteristically good mood. So good in fact, that Harry found himself striding down the corridor beneath his invisibility cloak with a bright smile plastered across his face.

He was going to learn more about his father, and he wasn’t expecting to get the same information he often received from Snape: that his father had been a good-for-nothing, bullying, pompous arse. No, Lupin would tell him the truth about his dad. And maybe Lupin would have something to say about Sirius too.

He entered the Defense classroom, feeling apprehensive as Lupin looked up from his desk. The man’s lined face looked curious as he noticed Harry standing in the doorway.

“Ah… Harry. What can I do for you?”

“Um… I was just wondering if… Well, Professor Snape told me that you knew my dad, and he said you could... Well, I thought you might tell me a bit about him,” Harry sputtered nervously, though his grin never faltered.

“Of course, I knew James,” Lupin said, smiling warmly. “He was one of my closest friends.” He paused for a moment, furrowing his brow. “And you say Professor Snape referred you to me?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t have many good things to say about my Dad, but he thought you might. Guess he realized I was tired of him grumbling about him all the time.”

An odd expression settled over the man’s face, and his light brown eyes lit with curiosity.

“Hmm, so you spend a lot of time with Professor Snape then?” He asked nonchalantly, shuffling some papers around on his desk.

Harry shrugged. “Lately, I guess. He’s been helping me in some of my classes.”

“That’s quite nice of him,” Lupin said, his smile growing larger.

The man seemed genuinely happy to hear that Harry and Snape were getting along, although Harry didn’t understand why. It was as if Lupin knew something that Harry did not.

“Well, I have many stories about your father that I could share, although you’ll have to promise not to attempt any of the stunts we pulled during school,” he chuckled.

“Like what? Pranks?” Harry asked excitedly.

“Oh yes,” said Lupin, his voice full of mirth. “Your father was known to be a trouble maker. He was a good kid, but he seemed to get into a fair amount of mischief. Often dragged the rest of us into it as well. I can remember quite clearly one of our adventures during our first year which included sneaking into the kitchens every morning and slipping some color changing potions into the pitchers of pumpkin juice before breakfast. The whole school had maroon hair for weeks before anyone found out it was us. But it made our house cup victory much more festive,” he told Harry.

“You guys did things like that all the time?” Harry asked in wonder.

“James was always coming up with crazy schemes like that,” Lupin told him. “It drove your mother crazy.”

“You knew my mother too?” Harry asked.

“She was in our year at Hogwarts and in Gryffindor as well, but I didn’t talk to her much until fifth year. We were both prefects that year.”

“A prefect,” Harry said dazedly, trying to picture his mother. The image he conjured within his mind was reminiscent of a red-haired Hermione.

“No one has ever told you this before?” the man asked, appearing bewildered.

“No,” Harry replied, gloomily. “No one talks about them much. All I hear is that I look like my father but with my mother’s eyes. Other than that, I don’t know anything about them.”

“Well I understand why Professor Snape wouldn’t have told you much about James due to their rivalry, but I’m surprised he hasn’t told you more about Lily.”

“Why would he tell me about her?” Harry asked.

“He and Lily were close… Well, at least for their first few years at Hogwarts,” he said as if recalling something unpleasant

“Oh...” Harry wasn’t sure what to say. He wished that Snape would have told him that, and Harry was disappointed that he hadn’t.

Professor Lupin decided to change the subject, apparently noticing Harry’s dejected expression. He went off into more stories. The latest one had occurred during their fifth year. Apparently, James had participated in a prank war with another Gryffindor student that had lasted for months and got increasingly creative.

“By the end of it, James had given the other student a love potion and gotten him to fall in love with Professor McGonagill. The boy sang her a romantic ballad in front of everyone in the Great Hall. She was not pleased and ended up avoiding that student at all costs. So, James started placing portkeys around our dormitory to transport the other student into McGonagill’s classroom, her office, and even into her private quarters once. Seeing Sir-” Lupin fumbled over a name that Harry suspected was Sirius’s, and then continued. “The student confess his undying love for Professor McGonagill, who was dressed in a bathrobe, as she dragged him by the ear down the hallway was one of the funniest things I’ve seen to this day.”

Harry laughed with the Defense professor, imagining the stern Professor McGonagill, red-faced as she attempted to drag a lovestruck student to the headmaster’s office. It must have been a sight to see.

Harry was enjoying learning more about his father, but he really wanted to ask Professor Lupin about Sirius; he just wasn’t sure how the man would react. It was clear that Lupin must have been friends with Sirius as well as his father because this “other student” was mentioned quite often in his stories.

Deciding that he didn’t have much time left to visit with the man, Harry gathered his courage and spoke.

“You must have been friends with Sirius Black too.”

His words were followed by mind-numbing silence. Professor Lupin looked dumbstruck. His face suddenly looked much older than his thirty-three years. Something in his eyes seemed weary and broken.

“I thought I was,” he said slowly in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

“So, you believe he did it then?” Harry asked, averting his eyes from the man.

“I would have never thought it was possible. The boy that I knew never seemed capable…” His voice drifted off for a moment, but then he continued in a voice devoid of all emotion. “But the proof was there. There was no denying it.”

This was what Harry had been dreading. Lupin believed Sirius was a murderer as well. How could he make the man see that Sirius was innocent? If Lupin could have seen the skeletal man with eyes full of anguish begging Harry not to kill himself, then he’d have to believe him. Unfortunately, Harry could never tell him that.

The boy was getting increasingly agitated by his inability to prove his godfather’s innocence without exposing his own secrets. He decided to try and reason with Lupin. Maybe he could get the man to question everything that he thought he knew.

“But what if they were wrong? What if he didn’t do it?”

“Harry, that’s not possible.” Lupin said firmly. “What would make you think that he’s innocent? It was only days ago that the man broke into the castle and nearly killed you!”

“He didn’t though. He could have killed me. He had so many opportunities, but he didn’t hurt me,” Harry whispered. “And he’s my godfather.”

“Harry, it’s true that Sirius was named your godfather, but you need to stop lying to yourself,” Lupin warned, his eyes wide and stern. “Sirius Black is dangerous. If he ever receives another opportunity, he will kill you.”

“No!” Harry said, shouting now. “He wouldn’t do that! He’s innocent!”

“You’re just confused…” Lupin whispered. “I know you’ve been having a difficult year, Harry… But you’re not well. Whatever you’ve imagined Sirius Black to be is not true…. I think you need help.” He said gently, reaching an arm out to rest on Harry’s shoulder.

The boy pulled away from him with one swift motion, jerking backward and slamming against a desk.

The anger was burning inside of him, and he wanted to scream. How could he make them understand? Sirius was good. Sirius didn’t lie to him. Sirius loved him.

Lupin thought he was delusional. He thought that Harry needed to be sent away.

Harry’s fury was like white-hot flames, searing through his veins. The rage was so powerful, it threatened to burst from within him. Harry clenched his fists and let out a sound that was half a sob and half a growl.

“I’m not crazy!”

Harry stormed out of the man’s office before Lupin had the opportunity to say another word.

* * *

Severus had thought that by assisting the boy in finding out more about his father, he would gain Harry’s trust. For the past few days, the boy had been relatively stoic and only replied to him in short, choppy sentences. “Hello.” “Yes.” “No.” “Thanks.” “Goodnight.” It was infuriating. Even with the Draughts of Peace that he’d been taking prior to the meetings, he could barely keep his temper under control. But he knew that he needed to get Harry to open up to him, so he had to remedy the situation. Severus could only come to one conclusion about what had caused it: Harry had been upset by his remarks about James Potter.

Severus was under the impression that Lupin would sit Harry down, tell him a few stories about James, and then, Harry would show up for his next meeting with the Potions Master, feeling grateful for his help and more willing to open up. As it was Harry though, nothing could ever go as planned.

Lupin showed up looking flustered on Saturday afternoon. He strode into Severus’s office to retrieve his Wolfsbane Potion with his face pale as if he’d just witnessed something traumatizing.

Severus did not appreciate the wolf barging into his room like this, and he was just getting ready to direct a scathing remark at him, when Lupin said the one word that made Severus forget everything else.

“Harry…” Lupin began, looking lost for words. “I think he… I think-”

“Spit it out!” Severus interrupted sharply. “What’s wrong with Harry?”

Was the boy okay? Was he hurt? He was ready to shake Lupin for not speaking fast enough.

“I think he might need mental help,” the man said slowly.

“What?”

“He’s very confused,” explained Lupin. “He thinks that Sirius Black is innocent. He started asking questions about him, and he got extremely upset when I told him that Sirius was dangerous.”

“What would make him think that Black is innocent. The man held a gun to his head days ago,” scoffed Severus.

“That’s what I tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t listen. He knew that Sirius was his godfather, and he kept insisting that Sirius wouldn’t harm him… His behavior was a bit disturbing. You don’t think that Sirius was able to put a Confundus on him, do you?”

“I suppose that is possible, but what would Black have to gain from doing that? If he had time to modify Harry’s memory, then he certainly had time to kill him,” Severus replied, feeling puzzled.

He had been trying to discover what the child had been concealing for a week and had gotten nowhere. _Was this what Harry had been hiding?_ He wondered if Black had somehow tricked the boy into thinking he was innocent and then gotten Harry to trust him?

Harry was an overly trusting child. It hadn’t taken much from Severus to get the boy to cooperate with him. Severus would admit that his behavior toward Harry had been despicable. For two years, Harry had hated him, and now, after only a few brief conversations, they were on amicable terms. Perhaps it had taken Black even less to gain his trust.

Along with his naturally trusting nature, the boy’s mind was in a delicate state. He was struggling with an eating disorder, depression, and Merlin-knows what else. Severus doubted that it would be hard to manipulate the child.

“Should we consult the headmaster?” Lupin asked, looking extremely concerned.

“I’ll discuss it with him later,” Severus told him coolly. “First, I want to talk to Mr. Potter.”

“He told me that you’d been helping him,” Lupin said slowly. “I’m glad to see that he has someone…” The man trailed off for a moment, making his way toward the door, and then said more quietly, “Lily would be glad to know it was you.”

Severus nodded tersely, a bit taken aback by Lupin’s words.

Lupin was wrong. Lily would be ashamed to see how Severus had treated her son. He had never treated the boy the way that he deserved, and even now, he was doing an abysmal job of caring for him. But he was trying.

Severus started the journey up to Gryffindor tower, intent on finding Harry, but then realized that it was lunchtime and headed for the Great Hall instead. The hall was relatively empty with most of the upper years gone to Hogsmeade, and he was able to immediately distinguish Harry, sitting alone at the end of his house table. The small Gryffindor was hunched over on the bench and tearing angrily at a sandwich. His messy black hair somehow looked even more disheveled than usual, as if the boy had been absentmindedly running his hands through it.

Severus approached the table at a brisk pace as if he expected the child to get up and run out of the hall when he spotted him. The Potions Master hovered over the boy for a moment before clearing his throat. Harry turned, looking startled.

 “Come with me,” Severus drawled.

“Why?” Harry asked apprehensively, his emerald eyes widening. “Where are you taking me?”

“Just outside, where it’s private. I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

“About what?” The boy said, but the forced casualty in his voice was laughable.

“Come on Harry. I just need to speak with you for a moment,” Severus said sighing. Why must the boy be so easily upset. It was as if he expected Severus to attack him. How could the brat trust Black but not him?

Harry rose from his seat slowly and followed the Potions Master into the corridor.

Severus used the Muffliato charm to ensure they would not be overheard and then began. “Lupin has just informed me that you believe Sirius Black to be innocent.”

“So, you’re here to tell me that I’m insane too,” Harry muttered irritably.

“No,” Severus said, attempting to force his face to look somewhat comforting. “I’m here to find out why you feel this way, and to make sure you do not place your trust in the wrong person.”

“I’m more than capable of deciding who to trust,” Harry told him.

“I’m not questioning your decisions. I’m just curious to hear your reasoning,” Severus stated, observing the child’s body language.

Harry was turned away from him, looking toward the door to the Great Hall, as if he wished more than anything to be inside. His arms were folded across his chest defiantly, and his face was scrunched in annoyance. If the boy had been more mature looking, this look may have been effective. But as small as Harry was, he just appeared to be a petulant child.

“My reasons are my own,” Harry declared.

“How do you expect me to agree with you if you provide no evidence,” Severus prompted, smirking slightly.

“I can’t tell you,” Harry said, looking forlorn.

“I think you should know that if you don’t reveal your reasoning I will be forced to go to the headmaster.”

“Go ahead. Everyone thinks I’m mad anyways.”

Severus was losing his patience. “You’ve done a pretty good job of proving them right,” he snapped.

“No one ever believes me,” Harry snarled. “Sirius could have hurt me. He’s had multiple opportunities, yet I’m still alive. Explain that.”

“What other opportunities?”

The boy seemed to realize that he’d said something he shouldn’t have, and the anger faded from his face and was replaced with apprehension.

“I just meant that I was with him in the tower for quite a while. If he wanted me dead, I’d have been dead.”

“Very well, but it would be wise for you to remember that the man nearly shot you. Even though you managed to escape that time, you may not always be so fortunate. Do you really expect that so many people would believe Black to be guilty if he was not?”

At these words, the boy glared coldly at Severus.

“There have been many times where people have believed me to be something that I’m not based on evidence that they did not fully understand. Think about that, Professor.”


	28. Chapter 28

Harry huffed angrily and grumbled the password to the Fat Lady’s portrait, climbing through without bothering to say goodbye to Snape. The man had insisted on bringing him back up to the tower after their altercation in the hall, and Harry had stomped in front of him the entire way in stony silence.

Snape had pissed him off with his comments about Sirius and his implications that Harry was incapable of making sound decisions. How dare the man question his judgement? He didn’t know anything.

“Stupid Snape,” Harry muttered quietly.

He supposed that it was pointless to try and convince Snape that he was wrong about his godfather. Just like with James Potter, Snape was obviously blinded by his past with Sirius.

Harry decided he wouldn’t bring up the topic again. Arguing with everyone about Sirius made him so angry, and it was too difficult not to spill his secrets when he was frustrated. He’d nearly messed up and told Snape about his other meetings with his godfather.

Harry moved toward the staircase, shuffling his feet and tripping over the edge of an oversized, ornamental rug covered in golden swirls. In the scuffle, his schoolbag slid off of his shoulder and its contents scattered across the floor. _Stupid rug!_

He dropped to his knees with a noisy sigh and began sweeping quills and parchment back into his bag. He felt something land on his hunched back and looked up sharply, only to see a winged figure fluttering down beside him. Hedwig had brought him a letter.

His sour mood suddenly turned hopeful as he unfolded the piece of parchment.

**Meet me by the portrait of Barnabus the Barmy on the seventh floor. Wear your father’s invisibility cloak. I’ll explain everything.**

The note was incredibly messy, with multiple ink smudges, and it appeared as though it was written in a hurry, but it was one of the most wonderful things that Harry had ever seen.

He sped through the halls at a run, careful not to let his cloak slip off his body. Once he reached the seventh floor, he walked briskly, keeping his eyes peeled for the portrait. He had only been on the seventh floor a few times, so he was unfamiliar with its location.

He had just slipped his invisibility cloak off when a moving tapestry on the wall caught his eye. It appeared to be a picture of a stout man surrounded by trolls in ballet costumes. Several dull-looking trolls spun clumsily, whacking the man accidentally with their long, wooden clubs, but the man only smiled. _Looks pretty barmy to me. This must be it._

As if he’d heard Harry’s thoughts, a door that Harry hadn’t seen before creaked open and a furry, black canine appeared in the entryway. Without hesitation, Harry followed the familiar dog, pulling the door closed behind him.

The room was quaint and cozy. Against one wall was a large, rustic fireplace that contained a roaring flame, and two couches were huddled around it, soaking up its warmth. The space was decorated in maroon and gold, reminding Harry fondly of the Gryffindor common room. He felt comfortable here.

In a flash, the dog became a man, and Sirius strode toward him, smiling brightly. He still wore the raggedy looking clothes that Harry had seen him in last time and he was rail thin, but there was a glint of happiness visible in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Harry, I’m so glad you came,” he said jovially.

Harry offered an awkward smile and shifted nervously, clasping his hands together behind his back.

“You’re gonna tell me everything now, right?” Harry asked, forcing himself to suppress the grin that threatened to appear on his face. He was so happy that Sirius was fulfilling his promise, but he needed to hear the man’s explanation. He needed to understand.

“Yes. But it’s a rather long story. Why don’t you come over here and sit down.” Sirius tapped lightly on the seat of the maroon couch, beckoning Harry forward.

Harry did as the man said, sinking down into the couch and tucking his legs underneath him. Then he looked at his godfather expectantly.

The man tucked a piece of stray hair behind his ear and then began. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to go back to my years at Hogwarts.” There was a faraway look in the man’s eyes as he spoke. “I first met your father, James, on the Hogwarts Express, and we instantly became friends. We were both sorted into Gryffindor along with Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. As we grew up, we all became extremely close, but me and James,” he sucked in a deep breath. “We were inseparable… like brothers.”

Harry nodded, averting his gaze from Sirius’s watery eyes.

“Anyway,” The man said, wiping his face and composing himself. “During our fifth year, James, Peter, and I became Animagi. Do you know what that means?”

“That means you can turn into animals?” Harry said uncertainly. “Like Professor McGonagill. That’s why you can transform into a dog.”

“Exactly. But all Animagi are supposed to receive extensive training as it can be very dangerous, and they’re all supposed to be registered with the ministry. We were not.” Sirius said gravely.

“What about Professor Lupin? Why didn’t he become one?”

“Well, Remus was… You see, Remus didn’t need to become an animagis because he’s a werewolf.”

“A werewolf!” Harry exclaimed.

“Yes. He would transform every month, and it was terrible for him. The transformation is not an easy one to make, but no one could be there with him without being in danger. Werewolves do not feel the urge to attack animals though, only people. So, we became animagi to keep him company. Just as no one could find out that Remus was a werewolf, we made sure that no one found out about our animagis forms. I was a dog. Your father was a stag. And Peter,” He snarled slightly at the name, revealing his crooked, yellow teeth. “Peter was a rat.”

“What does this have to do with how you got stuck in Azkaban? Why does everyone think you’re a murderer?” Harry asked, feeling confused.

“I’m getting to that, Harry. It wasn’t long after we finished at Hogwarts that your parents got married and had you. And then shortly after that, we all learned that they were in danger, so your parents took you and went into hiding. To keep Voldemort from finding them, they were protected under the Fidelius charm. Have you ever heard of it?”

Harry shook his head.

“Well, the Fidelius charm is used to protect a secret. The secret is contained within one person, known as the secret keeper, and the secret can not be discovered unless the secret keeper tells someone. Your parents used the charm to protect their location, and I was originally meant to be their secret keeper.”

“So, you told-“ Harry shouted incredulously.

Sirius cut him off. “No, Harry. I would have never told their secret. I would have rather died. But I still blame myself for what I did do. I persuaded them to choose Peter as their secret keeper.” His voice was laced with anguish and regret, and Harry felt his anger slipping away.

“But why?”

“It was common knowledge that James and I were especially close. Most people would automatically assume that he’d chosen me. I thought that by choosing Peter, they would be even better protected.”

“But they weren’t,” Harry said, knowing the answer.

“No. They weren’t,” Sirius replied sadly. “Peter Pettigrew turned traitor and revealed their location to Voldemort. That’s why your parents were attacked.”

Harry didn’t understand. If Peter was behind it all, then why was it Sirius who took the blame? It didn’t make any sense.

He decided to speak up and voice his concerns. “Why did you go to Azkaban then?”

“When I found out that James and Lily had been killed, I knew what Peter had done, and I went to find him. I cornered him on a busy street in London. I was going to kill him for what he’d done. But Peter was clever, cleverer than I thought he was capable of. He shouted out how I’d betrayed your parents and then he used a blasting curse that caused an explosion and killed a dozen muggles. He cut off his own finger to make it seem as though the blast had killed him too, but then he transformed into a rat and disappeared. Everyone assumed that I had been the secret keeper. All the muggles who had witnessed the explosion were interrogated for information, and everything they saw was used as evidence against me. I was thrown into Azkaban without a trial. Everyone believed that I’d done it.”

“And what happened to Peter?”

“From what I’ve learned, he’s been hiding under everyone’s noses all along, pretending to be a rat. While I was in Azkaban, I saw a picture of him in the Daily Prophet. He was shown in a family portrait of the Weasleys.”

 _The Weasleys?_ Harry didn’t understand. _Why would Peter Pettigrew be with the Weasleys, unless…_

“Ron’s rat is Pettigrew?”

“Mmhmm. I could tell it was him immediately. Same fat body. Same gray and brown markings. And he was missing a toe,” Sirius said heatedly. “I knew I had to find him, so I found a way to escape.”

“How?”

“The dementors that guard Azkaban are blind. They rely only on human emotion to guide them. Most people go mad within weeks, but because I could transform, their effect on me was diminished significantly.” He ran a hand through his mess of shaggy dark hair, as if trying to decide what to say next. “As a dog, I was just barely too wide to fit through the bars in my cell. They didn’t feed us much in there anyway, but I stopped eating until I was only skin and bones. One day, I was finally able to slip through.”

Harry wondered how thin his godfather must have been to slide through the bars. Probably as thin as Harry had been a month ago. At least Sirius had been able to put his thinness to good use.

“So, you came here to find Pettigrew? That’s why you broke into Gryffindor tower,” Harry stated, finally understanding the man’s motives.

“Exactly, but by the time I got there, the rat was gone.”

Sirius sounded extremely bitter, and Harry wondered if his godfather blamed him for not getting there in time. Maybe if he hadn’t distracted Sirius every night with his whining, then Sirius would have acted sooner.

“Yeah, Ron said he’d disappeared,” Harry said quietly.

“He must have found out I was coming for him… I waited too long. I just wanted my plan to be perfect, and so I stayed near the castle, listening, learning, observing.”

“And then you saw me,” Harry whispered.

“And then I saw you…”

Harry remembered the shaggy, black dog nuzzling against him as he cried and watching him diligently as he explained what was bothering him. But it hadn’t been a dog; it had been Sirius.

“I still can’t believe you were listening to me go on and on,” Harry said, his face turning a flustered shade of red. “I didn’t know that you could understand me.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. But you understand why I couldn’t just transform in front of you. I thought that you would believe me to be a murderer and I’d be locked up before I could get to Pettigrew. I planned to tell you as soon as he was dead,” he explained.

“But then you found my note.”

“Yes… Harry, when I got word that you and your parents had been attacked, it was one of the most terrifying moments in my life. And then when I read that letter… It was like it was happening all over again. I thought I’d lost you.”

“So, you read the whole thing? You know everything?”

Harry hoped that, by some miracle, Sirius hadn’t finished the letter. There were so many things that he didn’t want his godfather to know. He’d wanted to make Ron and Hermione understand why he had to do it. He’d written about the Dursleys and growing up unwanted. He’d written about Marge, and the events that led to her death. He’d written about Knockturn alley, about the man and the gun and the blood. Harry shuddered just thinking about it.

“Yes, Harry... I read it all, and I need you to know that what happened was not your fault, and I don’t think differently of you. Your aunt’s death was not your fault. She was a foul woman with a worn heart. Any stressor could have given her a heart attack. You are not responsible for her death.”

“What about the man… I picked up a gun and shot him, Sirius. How is that not my fault?” Harry felt hot tears stinging in his eyes and buried his face in his hands.

“Oh, Harry.” Sirius wrapped the trembling boy in a hug. “You were just defending yourself,” he whispered comfortingly in his ear. “That man was a monster. I’m glad you killed him. He deserved it.”

“No…” Harry blubbered.

“Yes. Think of it this way. Now, that man can’t hurt anyone else. He could have attacked any child, but you stopped him from ever doing it again.”

“That’s not the point!” Harry yelled. “Maybe if I hadn’t been so stupid, he wouldn’t have attacked me in the first place. He should still be alive. And it’s my fault.”

The man held Harry tighter and rubbed soothing circles on his back, shushing him gently. “It’s not your fault, Harry. It’s okay. You’re okay,” he whispered.

Voices from the past flooded through Harry’s ears.

_“FREAK!”_

_“DON’T CRY! YOU KNOW YOU DESERVE IT!”_

_“HOW DARE YOU SOIL THIS HOUSE WITH YOUR FREAKISHNESS!”_  
  
"YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED WITH YOUR WORTHLESS PARENTS!”

Harry couldn’t make the voices stop and a new wave of sobs shook his small frame.

“It’s always my fault! I always do the wrong things. I’m a freak, Sirius! I’m a freak who deserves to be punished. My aunt and uncle always told me so, and I kept telling myself that they were wrong. But they weren’t lying. All I do is screw things up!”

“No, Harry. No.” Sirius held onto him and rocked him gently. He waited until his sobs subsided and then grabbed him firmly by the shoulders. “Your relatives were wrong about you. Don’t ever for a second believe a word of what they’ve told you.”

 “It’s hard not to believe it when that’s all I’ve heard for the past thirteen years.” Harry mumbled, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“Well, you won’t have to hear it anymore,” Sirius said earnestly.

Harry looked at him questioningly.

“You’re with me now. I’m not letting you go back to those vile muggles. Never again,” his godfather explained.

“But how?”

“We’ll run away,” Sirius said. He studied Harry’s face for a moment before adding, “I mean, as long as you want to.”

It was what Harry wanted more than anything in the world. For a moment, he was at a loss for words.

“Of course, I do.”

A wide grin sprouted on the Sirius’s thin face. “So, what’s the plan then?”

 _The plan?_ Harry didn’t have a plan. He’d been imagining a life with Sirius, but he’d never thought how they would actually escape.

“Oh… I don’t know. Are we going now?”

“No…” Sirius chuckled lightly. “We’ll need a plan first. We need to find a way to sneak off the grounds without anyone noticing, and then I thought maybe we could use your broomstick. I would apparate us somewhere, but I haven’t got a wand, and using your wand would immediately alert the ministry,” he explained, and at Harry’s confused look, he added, “underage wizards aren’t allowed to apparate,”

Harry nodded, not completely sure what the word apparate meant. He thought he’d heard the twins talk about it before. He figured it must be some form of transportation. Then, he suddenly remembered the wand hidden beneath his mattress.

“I’ve got another wand.”

Sirius looked at him curiously.

“I took it from the man in the alley. It’s up in my dorm. You could use it.”

Sirius appeared fascinated. His eyes gleamed with optimism. “That’d be perfect. Good thinking,” he said.

Harry felt an overwhelming sense of pride at the man’s words. It was an unfamiliar feeling as of late to be praised for something he’d done.

“So, we just have to get outside of the grounds. From there I can take you to my family’s home. It’s not great, but we could stay there until we found a better place to go.”

Harry nodded. “So, when are we going?”

Harry hoped that it would be soon. He couldn’t wait to start his new life.

“The castle will be much less crowded over the holiday break. I figure we should go on Christmas Eve. How does that sound?”

“Brilliant.”

 

 

 


	29. Chapter 29

The following week was full of surprises for Harry.

First thing on Monday morning, he reported to the Hospital wing for his weekly visit with Madame Pomfrey.

“Ah, Mr. Potter. You’re right on time,” the mediwitch greeted as he sat down on one of the thin cots. She rifled distractedly through a stack of folders before pulling out one that said **Potter, Harry J.** “So, how are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” Harry replied tiredly. He yawned quietly and then rubbed at his eyes. He had stayed up late with Ron, chatting about the prank on Malfoy.

“Any pain, aches, new symptoms?” Madame Pomfrey questioned, raising a grey eyebrow.

“Nope.”

“Alright, well, let me check your weight then. Stand up,” she commanded.

Harry got to his feet and watched as the mediwitch performed her usual set of spells. Each time he came to one of these checkups, the mediwitch would check his height, weight, nutrient levels, and oxygen levels. But unlike during his other visits, in which she would tell him that he was doing better but still had a fair way to go, she turned to him and smiled.

“Well, Mr. Potter, Congratulations.”

“For what?” Harry said, furrowing his brow.

“All your levels are normal, and you’ve just crossed the line into a healthy weight,” she responded, beaming brightly. “I think this will be your last mandatory checkup.”

“So, I don’t have to take those retched potions anymore?” Harry asked anxiously, wrinkling his nose.

Madame Pomfrey snorted. “No, I suppose not,” she chuckled. “Be sure not to tell Professor Snape what you thought of them though. I doubt he would find it amusing.”

Harry nodded, knowing exactly what Snape would say if he heard what he thought.

_“Those potions were not made for your enjoyment, you ungrateful dunderhead.” Snape would growl sardonically._

“So, am I free to go?” He asked, gesturing toward the door.

“Yes, you may go. Keep up the good work, Mr. Potter, and don’t let me see you in here anytime soon,” she threatened affectionately.

Harry left the hospital wing in good spirits. He was heading to breakfast to meet Ron and Hermione when a figure clad in long, dark robes stepped out of the shadows.

The long-nosed man looked appraisingly at Harry before speaking.

“What are you so happy about?” Snape questioned curiously.

Harry thought about giving the man the silent treatment again but eventually decided against it. He was too excited not to tell someone the good news.

“Madame Pomfrey’s just told me that I don’t have to come for checkups anymore,” Harry told him. “Or drink your lovely potions, sir,” he added smartly.

“I see,” he said. “Well, this must be your lucky day. Our evening meetings will be cancelled this week as I am hosting detention for a group of fifth year Gryffindors.”

“What a shame,” Harry said sarcastically. He was enjoying the friendly banter with Snape. It almost made him forget how angry he’d been at the man just days ago.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Potter,” he growled, but Harry thought he saw a slight smile appear on the Potion Master’s face. “Our meetings will resume as usual next week.”

Harry continued on to the Great Hall, practically skipping with joy.

On Tuesday, Fred and George ambushed Harry after class and pulled him into the bathroom, shoving Ron out into the hall.

“HEY! LEMME IN!” Ron roared, banging his fists into the wooden door.

“Ignore him,” Fred told Harry, rolling his eyes.

“He’s always been a bit dramatic,” added George.

Harry grinned, trying to block out Ron’s shouts. “So, what’s all this about?” He asked.

“Well, young Harry,” started Fred.

“We thought that it was time that we impart some wisdom on the next generation of pranksters,” said George.

“Ron told us about your revenge on Malfoy, and we have a few ideas,” Fred proclaimed, his voice full of mirth.

The twins’ eyes glittered with mischief, and Harry felt excitement bubbling within the pit of his stomach.

“Why can’t Ron listen?” Asked Harry.

“Ronnikins cannot be trusted with such sensitive information,” explained Fred.

“You must swear not to reveal the secrets that we will share with you,” murmured George, narrowing his eyes.

“Swear it,” Fred demanded.

Ron continued to pound on the door, and his muffled shouts pervaded the room. Harry glanced in his direction before locking eyes with the twins again.

“I swear,” he said seriously.

“Here,” said George, thrusting out a folded piece of parchment.

Harry took it from him and examined it carefully. He turned it over and then stared curiously at the twins.

“It’s blank.”

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” the twins said in unison, grinning slyly.

Harry had never seen such a spectacular display of magic. Once the twins had explained what the map could do, he was mesmerized by how useful the device could be. It would show any person’s location within the castle as well as all the secret passages. Immediately he thought of how he could use the map to assist in Sirius’s escape.

Fred and George insisted that Harry could use it as a tool to prank Malfoy. They presented him with about a dozen schemes, but Harry found them to be a bit too outlandish. Any one of the pranks could lead to his expulsion from school, and even Malfoy wasn’t worth that. But Harry nodded and thanked them for the gift.

Just as he’d promised, Harry didn’t tell Ron about the map. He decided that the tool would be more useful if he kept it a secret from his friends, but he couldn’t wait to tell Sirius about it.

Wednesday brought the Gryffindor and Slytherin quidditch match that had been rescheduled after Sirius’s break in. The whole school was buzzing with excitement. Everyone was up early to attend. Well, everyone except Harry.

Ron and Hermione were donned in Gryffindor apparel. Each wore sweaters, scarves, and hats of maroon and gold. They seemed surprised to see Harry when he entered the common room in his plain, black robes.

“Aren’t you coming to the match, mate?” Ron asked quizzically.

“I don’t think so,” Harry replied. “I didn’t get much sleep last night, so I thought after breakfast I would have a lie in.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. Harry hadn’t slept great during the previous night. He’d been pretty anxious about Sirius getting caught lately, and he was up late worrying about it again. However, he was not planning on going back to sleep. The quidditch match provided him with the perfect opportunity to sneak away and meet his godfather. He was excited to show Sirius the map, and he hoped that the tool would help Sirius develop their escape plan.

“Are you sure?” Ron asked.

“Yeah,” Harry answered. “I mean it would be weird to watch Gryffindor play. I’ve never not been a part of the match. I’d rather just spend some time alone.”

Ron nodded, but Hermione looked suspicious. Harry hoped that she wasn’t catching on to his secrets. She’d kept a close eye on him, especially in the past week. Harry supposed that she was still waiting for his explanations and his silence was only making her draw her own conclusions; he just hoped she was making the wrong ones.

After breakfast, when all of the students flooded out the castle doors to the quidditch pitch, Harry crept up the staircase toward the seventh floor and threw his invisibility cloak over himself. He reached the peculiar portrait of Barnabus the Barmy and then knocked four times on the wall, just as Sirius had instructed him to do when visiting.

After a moment, a door appeared in the hall and then swung open slowly. Harry slipped inside and slid off his cloak. Immediately, Sirius was in front of him, scooping him into a hug.

“Harry, I’m so glad to see you!” Sirius said, swinging him around in a circle.

Harry initially tensed at the sudden contact, but then he quickly relaxed in his godfather’s arms. He laughed lightly as the man placed him gently on his feet.

“How were you able to sneak away without anyone seeing?” Sirius asked.

“The Gryffindor quidditch match with Slytherin is this morning, so everyone is outside,” Harry explained. “I thought it was the perfect opportunity, but if it’s not a good time, I can leave though,” he added.

“No. No. This is great,” Sirius said. “It’s boring as hell in here, and I always want to see you.”

Harry smiled and rifled through his bag. His fingers brushed against a rough, wooden object and he gave Sirius a devious look. “I have a surprise for you.”

Sirius’s tired eyes lit up at his words. “A surprise?”

“Actually, I have three surprises,” Harry said slowly. He snatched the object from his bag and held it out for Sirius. “This is your new wand,” he stated.

Sirius took the wand hesitantly, flicking it lightly and looking pleasantly surprised. “I think this wand suits me well. It won’t work quite the same as my old wand, but it will definitely work. Thank you, Harry.”

Harry beamed proudly, and then fished a second object out of his bag, handing it to his godfather.

This object was a lumpy, velvet covered bag. Sirius loosened the drawstring and peered down curiously.

“What is this?” He asked.

“When I ran away, I went to Gringotts and withdrew some muggle money. I didn’t end up using it, but I thought that we could. If we’re in the muggle world, we could at least buy food or rent a place to stay.”

“That’s a thoughtful idea, but it feels wrong using your money,” Sirius said.

“I want you to have it. And it’s not really mine. It was my parents’, and I think they would want you to use it,” Harry explained.

Sirius appeared to be thinking over the issue for a moment, but then he replied, “I guess they would want me to use it to protect you.”

“There’s one more thing,” Harry said excitedly.

He pulled the blank piece of parchment from his bag and handed it to his godfather.

Sirius stared down at it in astonishment. Without saying a word to Harry, he raised his new wand and said shakily, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

The parchment sprang to life in his godfather’s hands, and Sirius looked up at Harry in awe. “Where did you get this?”

“How did you know the password?” Harry asked, feeling confused.

“Harry, do you know what this is?” Sirius asked, his eyes wide.

“It’s a map that shows where everyone is in the castle. Fred and George Weasley gave it to me. So, how did you know the password?”

“I helped to make it,” Sirius whispered. “With your father, Remus, and Peter.”

“Really?” Harry gasped.

Sirius pointed to the title which read: **The Marauder’s Map.** Then he gestured to the group of small words above it that Harry hadn’t noticed: **Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs present.**

Harry immediately recognized the nicknames, and he couldn’t believe that his father had been a part of making it. He must have been a really powerful wizard.

“It’s really great that you have the map. James would have wanted you to have it,” Sirius whispered.

“Yeah,” Harry said, feeling himself getting choked up. He decided to change the subject. “So, have you figured out any more about the plan?”

Sirius went on to inform Harry on how the plan had progressed. He had decided that on the night of Christmas Eve, when most of the students would be gone from the castle, Harry would sneak up to the seventh floor under the invisibility cloak. From there, Sirius and Harry would sneak to the owlery and board Harry’s broom. Sirius would wear the invisibility cloak while on the broom, and Harry would fly them toward Hogsmeade. Once they were past the Hogwarts grounds, Sirius could apparate them to his family’s home. They would be safe there until they decided what to do next.

To Harry, it seemed as though Sirius had thought of everything. Each question that Harry asked was quickly answered. Sirius had obviously put in an enormous amount of thought. But there were still a few things that Harry wasn’t sure about.

“So, after we leave, we can never come back?” Harry asked.

“Well, it wouldn’t be safe for us. Unless I can find a way to prove that Pettigrew is alive and I’m innocent, I can never be seen. They would take you away and kill me,” he said gravely.

Harry gulped and nodded. “I’ll never see my friends again,” Harry whispered, talking more to himself than to Sirius.

“That’s not necessarily true,” Sirius began. “It probably wouldn’t be safe to see them until after you’re of age, but you could still write to them.”

“Really? That would be amazing. And maybe if they knew that I was with you and you didn’t hurt me, we could convince more people that you’re innocent.”

“Maybe,” Sirius said sadly, but it was clear he didn’t think anyone would ever believe he wasn’t a killer.

Harry felt bad for Sirius. He knew what it felt like to have everyone against you. Feeling sympathetic, Harry placed a comforting hand on Sirius’s shoulder. The man smiled at him slightly and nodded in appreciation.

“Harry, could I ask you something?” Sirius said grimly.

Harry nodded and looked at the man expectantly.

“Why did you believe so quickly that I was innocent? There was so much evidence stacked against me, but you seemed to trust me without much persuasion.”

Why had he let himself believe that his godfather was innocent? To Harry, the answer was simple. Before Sirius, he’d lost all hope for himself. But Sirius had given him a reason to hope. He’d placed his entire will to live on his godfather. He hadn’t trusted Sirius because he knew the man was innocent. He’d believed in the man because he didn’t care if he was innocent. Harry was so desperate to find purpose that he’d decided to trust. It didn’t matter if what Sirius had said was true because if he’d been a killer, then Harry’s life would have been over. He’d trusted because he had nothing to lose.

“The truth is I didn’t know if you were innocent, but I didn’t care,” Harry told him. “If you’d been a murderer, then I figured you’d kill me, and then I wouldn’t have to do it myself. But if you were innocent, then I had a reason to keep going.”

Sirius looked distressed by Harry’s answer. “So, you only trusted me because you thought I would…” The man went silent, as if not able to finish his sentence.

“I mean I didn’t think you were a murderer, but I wasn’t sure. I just decided to take the chance because I really had nothing to lose,” Harry explained, trying to make Sirius feel better.

Sirius only appeared more concerned for his godson. “How are you feeling now, Harry?”

“I’m okay as long as I’m with you,” Harry said bluntly.

“But if we got separated somehow, would you still want to die?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said.

“Are you still feeling suicidal?”

“Not lately,” he answered. “But I finally feel like I have a future with you. Before I had no one to talk to. No one would understand.”

Sirius sat silently for a moment, looking contemplative. “Just promise me that if you ever feel that way again, you’ll talk to me.”

“Okay.”

“I never want you to feel alone again.”

“Thanks,” said Harry, feeling a little awkward. He was still embarrassed that Sirius knew what he’d been planning. “Well, I should probably head back to the tower. Who knows when the quidditch game will end.”

“Alright,” Sirius said, sounding slightly disappointed. “Next time you should bring your broom. We can practice flying together.”

Thursday afternoon brought the revenge on Malfoy that Harry and Ron had been waiting for. It had taken them much thought and planning, but they’d finally identified the perfect prank for Draco. Once they’d realized what would embarrass him the most, it hadn’t been hard to develop a plan.

They’d only filled Hermione in on the plan during breakfast the previous morning, and she’d insisted that their prank was too harsh.

“Ronald, that’s absolutely sadistic!” Hermione had whined.

“No. Fair is what it is. He’s been strutting around the school like he’s superior for three years and I’m sick of it. He needs to be taken down a peg. Besides, he took Scabbers and nearly killed Harry!”

Hermione had gone silent after that.

Harry knew that Draco had nothing to do with Scabbers disappearance and that the “murder attempt” hadn’t been entirely the blonde prat’s fault either, but he agreed that Draco deserved some vengeance. Malfoy needed to realize that he was no better than any other student, and their plan would definitely teach him.

Now, they were all stationed at their positions in the Great Hall, eagerly awaiting the reaction from the Slytherin.

Harry felt Ron’s tense form beside him and shot him an excited smile. The two of them were crowded beneath the invisibility cloak and huddled up against the wall nearest the Slytherin house table. From their position, they could see Malfoy sitting a few yards away. In the distance, a nervous looking Hermione was peering frantically toward the wall.

“Ready?” Ron whispered.

“Ready.”

Both boys raised their wands and stared expectantly at the entrance to the Great Hall. It wasn’t long before the massive doors swept open and a herd of owls came barreling into the room. Birds of every size and color soared over the tables, delivering letters and parcels to the students below.

Harry’s eyes were glued to the sinister looking black owl that flew toward Draco and dropped a pristine envelope into his outstretched palms.

Draco opened the envelope and pulled out a crisp sheet of white parchment. The Slytherin boy’s eyes narrowed as he began reading, and by the time he set the letter down he was looking absolutely ill. His face had gone a pale shade of green, and his mouth seemed to be stuck in a permanent O.

After reviewing the plan so many times, Harry thought he could have restated the letter verbatim.

It hadn’t been written by her, but the letter was addressed from Narcissa Malfoy. Written in beautiful calligraphy that only Hermione could pull off, the parchment read:

**Dear Draco,**

**I never wanted you to find out, but unfortunately, that is no longer an option. Lucius has discovered my secrets, and it is now impossible to keep the truth from you.**

**Lucius Malfoy is not your father. We tried to conceive a child for years, as we needed a Malfoy heir for Lucius to inherit the fortune from his father. I feared that he was infertile and took matters into my own hands.**

**I had an affair with a muggle man from London. I don’t recall that man’s name, but he was your biological father. Once you were born, I placed powerful charms on you to conceal your true features, but those spells should be fading very soon.**

**You see, it is no longer necessary to hide your parentage. Soon everyone will know that you are neither a pureblood, nor a Malfoy. Lucius has left me and disowned you. The news will spread fast and I assume it will make the front page of the Daily Prophet before the end of the week.**

**I am so sorry, but you needed to know the truth. Your appearance is probably already changing. Keep your head held high, Draco.**

Still staring at Draco’s shocked face, Harry and Ron took action. Each shot a separate spell at the blonde boy.

Harry’s spell hit the top of Malfoy’s head, transforming his neatly combed blonde locks into a mess of walnut colored curls.

Ron’s spell struck Draco at nearly the same time, changing the boy’s slate grey eyes to a dull brown.

Draco began running his hands frantically through his changing hair, letting out noisy gasps of panic. The students around Malfoy looked shocked as his features shifted, many of them appeared to be asking him questions, but Draco only shook his head. Harry clearly heard Pansy Parkinson ask what was wrong before grabbing the letter from Draco’s trembling hands and reading it aloud to the table.

As the words tumbled from the pug-faced girl’s mouth, the students at the Slytherin table exploded in laughter.

“A MUGGLE!” One shouted hysterically.

“MALFOY’S A BASTARD!”

“NOT EVEN A MALFOY,” another voice bellowed.

Harry and Ron could barely contain their laughter, and they shook violently from beneath the cloak. When Draco rose from his seat and sprinted for the doors, their giggles burst free and joined in with the rest of the hall. They only laughed harder when the newly-brown-haired boy tripped on the way to the door and faceplanted onto the stone floor.

Harry had never imagined that the prank would turn out so well. He knew that Sirius would be proud.

With all of the week’s surprises, Harry wasn’t expecting to be blindsided again on Friday.

He had just entered the Hall for breakfast when Dumbledore stood up at the head table. Harry was expecting the elderly man to disregard the rumors about Draco’s parentage and to reprimand the pranksters who were responsible. Instead, the headmaster cleared his throat and looked out at the students with a somber expression.

“As you all surely know by now, Hogwarts was recently broken into by the escaped prisoner, Sirius Black,” Dumbledore began.

The students responded with quiet murmurs of assent.

“The Minister for Magic has insisted that we increase our castle protections to prevent any future incidents of the sort. Not only will the dementors of Azkaban be guarding the perimeter of the Hogwarts grounds, they will now be stationed around the castle and guarding every doorway, active immediately.”

The headmaster sounded slightly annoyed by this information, and Harry got the feeling that adding dementors closer to the castle had not been his idea. Harry wasn’t too pleased about it either. He had been lucky enough to avoid the dementors all term aside from the incident on the train, and he was certainly not looking forward to meeting them again.

“As the dementors will be outside, no students will be allowed out of the castle unless traveling with a professor. Classes in the outdoor building will be relocated inside for the remainder of the term.”

Harry zoned out for a moment, ignoring some of Dumbledore’s speech. He was thinking about his plan with Sirius. Would the dementors affect their escape plan?

He supposed not. After all, they had been planning to fly out of the castle. The guarded doorways shouldn’t pose a problem as long as they were careful. Calming back down, Harry focused on the headmaster’s words again.

“Unfortunately, to place these new spells on the castle, it must be empty. Therefore, all students will be required to return home for the winter holidays. Following the end of term exams next Friday, your Head of House will escort you to the Hogwarts Express.”

Harry felt his heart drop. That might be a problem.

 


	30. Chapter 30

"Harry, if you do not stop that incessant tapping, I am going to come over there and slice off your fingers," Severus growled.

The boy hadn't stopped drumming his hands on the desk since he'd arrived nearly half an hour ago, and if the noise didn't stop, Severus feared he would go mad.

At his words, the boy's crestfallen face rose up to meet his own, and Harry calmly folded his hands in his lap. Though he didn't speak, it was clear that something was troubling the young Gryffindor. This was the third consecutive meeting this week in which Harry had seemed tense and distracted.

"For Merlin's sake," Severus muttered. "What is it?"

"What?" Harry asked dazedly.

"What is the problem?"

"What isn't the problem?" The boy snapped back sourly.

His first instinct was to offer a piercing glare and a venomous retort. This urge was not easy to ignore, but whether it was the calming draught he’d taken earlier or his desire to connect with the boy, he somehow managed to overpower it.

Severus rose from the chair behind his desk and strode over to Harry. He looked down at the child impatiently.

"Explain."

Harry sighed. "It's just... You know, what Dumbledore said. Everyone has to go home for Christmas Break."

"And why is that a problem?"

"I can't go back," he said, dropping his head against the desk.

"You can, and you will," Severus insisted.

"You don't understand," Harry said without lifting his head from the wooden table. His voice was muffled against the surface of the desk.

"Then explain it."

Harry glanced up and looked at him for a moment. His face was contorted in a way that suggested he was contemplating his answer very carefully.

“Do you remember that detention I had at the start of term? The one when…”

Severus immediately knew the night that the boy was referring to. He recalled the pounding headache he’d received after the child’s detention several months earlier.

“When your accidental magic threw me against the wall,” Severus stated.

Harry nodded. “I told you that I thought my magic had killed my Aunt Marge.”

“And I told you that was ridiculous.”

Severus saw a twitch of a smile appear on the boy’s face, but it quickly disappeared.

“Yeah… The problem is that my… The Dursleys still think I did it. They think I killed her on purpose,” he explained. “They’ll never allow me back in that house. Not that I want to go back anyway.”

From Severus’s experience with muggles, he knew that the majority of them were not very bright, especially when it came to magic. But he couldn’t fathom how the family who had raised Harry could believe that he had killed someone in cold blood.

“Are your family members daft?”

Harry actually laughed aloud. “Yes.”

Severus couldn’t explain the warmth he felt spreading through him when he heard Harry laughing. It wasn’t very long ago that the boy had been walking around half dead, barely ever responding to anything. Perhaps he was making progress with the child after all.

Despite this burst of happiness, he couldn’t help but feeling that something about Harry’s family was off. He’d never heard the boy mention them in casual conversation. Not even once. And from what Harry had said, they hadn’t been in contact all term. He must not be very close to them.

“I see. I’m sure they only believed such a thing because they were grieving. Now that some time has passed, I’m sure they’ve finally recognized the truth.”

“I doubt it,” Harry muttered dryly.

_Hmmm… There is definitely something he isn’t saying._

“Did they treat you differently after she died? Were they upset with you?” Severus prodded.

“Well, yeah,” Harry said as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. “Of course, they were upset with me. I practically murdered someone in front of them. They never liked me before, but after…”

Harry went silent.

“What did they do after?”

He had a feeling that he already knew. The boy’s mental state couldn’t have been so fragile without some sort of bad influence at home. Children didn’t become so closed off and secretive without having a reason to be. He knew from experience.

Severus suspected that Harry had never really been accepted as a part of the Dursley family. He remembered Petunia from his childhood and she had despised all things magical, including her sister. It made sense that she’d never accepted the boy as her own. But he hoped she’d never mistreated the child.

He couldn’t help but remember the boy sobbing as he recounted how he’d killed his aunt with accidental magic. Harry had been distraught and frantic. Perhaps all that guilt was a result of his family’s behavior toward him.

“They were just really mad at me. They ignored me mostly.”

They must have done more than ignore him. Probably blamed him for Marge Dursley’s death. He suspected at least mild verbal abuse in addition to their disregard of his eating disorder which likely started before the start of term. He would definitely speak to Dumbledore about them to be sure that they took proper care of him over the break.

 “So, you’re worried that they’ll still be cross with you when you return?”

“Something like that,” the boy muttered.

“Do you think it would help if the headmaster were to sit them down and explain the situation to them? He could assure them that you’re innocent.”

“They’d never believe him. I’d be in more trouble if someone like me showed up. They hate anyone who has magic.”

“Including you?” Severus asked concernedly.

Harry averted his eyes, shuffling the papers on his desk and reaching for his quill. “Can I get back to my homework now, sir?”

“No. I know I told you I wouldn’t force you to talk about anything in these meetings, but this is important. If your relatives will not treat you properly, you need to tell me.”

“They’ll treat me fine.”

Severus stared at him with piercing eyes, searching for the sign of a lie. After a moment, he nodded slowly. If the boy was lying, he wasn’t showing it.

“They mostly just ignore me,” he mumbled in a voice barely loud enough to hear. “They don’t want me there, and I don’t want to be there.”

“Well, unfortunately, there will be many things in life that you don’t want to do, Harry.”

“I just don’t understand why I can’t stay here. I’ll stay in my dorm the whole time if I have to. I won’t cause any trouble.”

His pleading tone was slightly disconcerting, but Severus disregarded it. It made sense for Harry not to want to return to a family that went out of their way to make him feel unwelcome, but he would be safe there, and that’s all that mattered.

“You cannot stay. The protective spells that will be cast will not be effective if there are people still in the castle. The headmaster would not insist that you go back there if it wasn’t the best place for you.”

Harry did not acknowledge that Severus had spoken, he silently turned back to his homework, seemingly entranced by the parchment.

“You will have to go back to your muggle family, but it will only be for a few weeks. I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”

Harry didn’t speak to him for the rest of their session.

* * *

Severus couldn’t fathom why Lucius Malfoy had insisted on speaking with him today. As far as he knew, there were no pressing issues occurring in which he was involved, yet he’d received notice that the man had important information to share that morning at breakfast. His notice had arrived in the form of a letter, delivered by a hulking black owl that soared through the air with the sense of superiority and refinement that could only belong to a Malfoy.

As soon as he’d received it, a scowl had marred his sallow features. Though he hadn’t been looking forward to the visit, he’d shown up to Malfoy manor on time, clenching his fists at his sides and forcing a pleasant expression. He’d been hoping to get more information from Harry today, but due to Lucius’s invitation, he’d been forced to cancel his session with the Gryffindor.

It was to be their last meeting of the term, as the students were to head home tomorrow, but he was sure that Harry wouldn’t mind his cancellation. The boy had seemed cross with him since the night before, reverting back to stony silence. It was clear that he didn’t want to be around Severus. He felt a sinking sense of disappointment toward the fact that he must have imagined the progress that he was making with the boy.

He pushed his thoughts about Harry deep down inside himself in order to pay attention to the blonde-haired man sitting across from him.

“Do you know who was behind this prank on Draco that I keep hearing about?” Lucius asked bitterly.

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

Severus struggled to hold back his smirk. He was positive that the whole thing had been orchestrated by Harry and the Weasley boy, but he didn’t dare to ask about it after what Draco had done to Harry.

“It’s beginning to damage our reputation,” he spat.

“Don’t worry Lucius, anyone who has any sense knows that it’s a lie.”

“Not everyone. Someone from the Quibbler published an article about it. The story has grown even more ridiculous. Now, it’s rumored my son was fathered by one of our house elves.”

Though he was greatly amused, Severus forced his face to show no emotion. One day, he’d have to congratulate Harry on his victory over Draco. It had really been a clever plot worthy of a Slytherin.

“Draco’s been very upset about it. Students from other houses are still bothering him about it. I trust that you will put a stop to this?”

“Of course,” Severus lied.

“First all of those detentions and now this. He’s really having a rough time.”

Severus only nodded, ignoring the slight jab about the punishment he’d assigned Draco.

“Well, now that that’s out of the way, I’ve asked you here to discuss something that I think you’ll find interesting,” Lucius began with a smirk.

Severus sat up straighter in his chair and his face lit up with curiosity.

“The boy from Knockturn Alley,” The man began, and Severus cut him off.

“Have you found the child?”

“Not yet, but I’m getting closer,” he explained smugly.

Severus didn’t even have to pretend to be intrigued. Though he’d placed his search for the mysterious child aside, he hadn’t stopped thinking about him. There were so many questions surrounding the boy that couldn’t be answered until he was found.

“A bullet was recovered near where you found Dolohov. I had it sent off to a contact in the muggle artifacts unit. He’s found the model that it came from, and he’s searching for all of those registered firearms in Britain. Now, all we have to do is wait for a match.”

“And then what?”

“Then we’ll have justice,” he said with a smirk. “Tea, Severus?”

* * *

 Harry couldn’t calm his racing heart. He’d been trying to sneak away and see Sirius all week to no avail. There was always someone around watching him. Every time he attempted to sneak away from the crowd, someone would follow him or remind him that he wasn’t to be out alone. It was almost as if the universe was plotting against him. Until now.

Snape had cancelled his meeting today. Harry didn’t know why, and he didn’t particularly care either. Snape’s absence provided him with the perfect opportunity to disappear.

He hadn’t informed Percy of the change of plans, so the older Gryffindor boy walked him to the Dungeons as usual. As soon as the Head Boy was out of sight, Harry threw his invisibility cloak on and darted up the staircase.

Using the special knock that Sirius had taught him, Harry tapped lightly on the wall. Seconds later, a door emerged, and Harry slipped inside.

Sirius greeted him excitedly, but his joy seemed to morph into concern when he saw Harry’s face.

“What’s wrong?”

“They’re sending me back tomorrow,” Harry said solemnly.

“What do you mean?”

“They’re shutting down the school for break, and all the students have to go back home except I don’t have a home and Vernon is going to kill me and you promised me I wouldn’t have to go back there,” Harry blurted out with a single breath.

He could feel traitorous tears stinging in his eyes, and he blinked furiously, trying to hide them.

Harry felt a warm weight settle on his shoulder as Sirius offered him a comforting hand.

 “Calm down, Harry. You aren’t going back there. I promised you, and I’m not breaking that promise,” he said earnestly.

“Then what are we gonna do?”

Sirius ran a hand through his shaggy hair, letting out an anxious sigh. “I guess you’ll have to ride the train with the other students, and I’ll have to find a place to meet you.”

“And you’ll make sure I don’t get stuck at the Dursley’s?”

“Of course. I’ll do whatever I have to do to get there.”

From his tone, Harry could tell that his godfather was not lying. The man was going to do whatever it took to ensure his safety. But what if he did something foolish, something that would get him captured and thrown back in Azkaban? Harry didn’t want to endanger him. He wasn’t worth it.

“Well, don’t do anything that will get you in trouble. I’d rather be with the Dursleys for a few days and be sure that your safe. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you,” Harry admitted awkwardly.

Sirius smiled warmly at him. “Don’t worry about me, kid. I know what I’m doing.”

They talked for several minutes, contemplating the best way to escape. It didn’t seem safe for Harry to skip the train ride. Someone would notice he was missing and they’d have a search party looking for him in no time.

On the contrary, Sirius couldn’t sneak into the train station. The powerful headmaster would have definitely considered him trying to pluck Harry directly off the train, and he wasn’t sure what protections Dumbledore would have placed to prevent him from entering.

As much as Harry didn’t want to see the Dursleys again, he recognized that he’d at least have to ride with them to Little Whinging, but he wouldn’t dare step foot in the house. He knew that once the front door shut behind him, he’d be trapped for the remainder of the break. As soon as Vernon pulled into the driveway, he’d jump out of the car and run down the street. Sirius could meet him there and be ready to apparate away.

It wasn’t the perfect plan, but at least Harry knew that he’d never have to go back once it was over. He’d have Sirius, and Sirius would always protect him. He’d never be alone again. Everything was going to be okay.

For Harry, feeling like everything was going to be okay was a strange and unfamiliar sensation. He’d never felt secure. Not when he was growing up in the Dursley house. Not when he started at primary school and was finally able to live outside of the four cupboard walls. Not even when he discovered the wizarding world. Some part of him always felt that the rug was about to be pulled from beneath him, and it usually was. But now he had Sirius. His godfather was offering him a future that he’d never allowed himself to hope for.

“Well, I should probably head back before someone notices I’m gone. You’ll meet me at Privet Drive?”

“I’ll be there,” Sirius promised.

Harry rifled through his bag, feeling the slick, silky fabric of his invisibility cloak. “Here, you should take this. You’ll need it more than me.”

Sirius took the cloak from him, smiling down at it, and then pulled Harry into a tight hug. Harry burrowed his face into the man’s shoulder, clutching him tightly.

“Tomorrow it’ll all be over. Just stay strong until I can get to you.”

 

 

 


	31. Chapter 31

Somehow, Harry had survived his exams. He didn’t want to admit that it was because of Snape’s help, but deep down, he knew that it was true. Without the snarling potion’s professor, he would have never managed to pass his tests. He’d never get the chance to thank the man, as he didn’t plan to see him or anyone else from Hogwarts for the next several years, but that was just as well. He didn’t think he could show his appreciation without losing his dignity, and Snape would probably be just as uncomfortable if he expressed any gratitude.

It surprised Harry to recognize that he would almost miss some of their meetings together. Perhaps the dungeon bat had never been as bad as he’d though him to be. He’d saved his life more than once. Even if he hadn’t been the kindest man, some of his actions were still admirable. Perhaps one day, Harry would write him a letter telling him that.

He was definitely going to write to Ron and Hermione, even though he’d probably wait a few months to make sure it was safe. He wanted them to know the real story as he had promised to tell them eventually. They would be shocked, but at least they would know that he was safe and being cared for properly. Harry believed that they would be happy for him.

Today, after months of turmoil, Harry was finally going to live with his godfather. Sirius was going to meet him at the Dursley’s address and apparate him to a safe location. Then they would be free to live as they wanted, both shielded from the world and able to heal from their own demons. Each of them would learn more about the other and bond until it was like they had never been strangers. Harry couldn’t wait.

He had already packed up all his belongings. He’d cleared everything out of his dormitory, ignoring the looks he received from his dormmates who had only packed a few things. Now, all he had to do was wait for McGonagill. She would be there any minute.

Harry glanced around the familiar common room, feeling nostalgic for all the good memories he’d experienced there. He fondly remembered evenings spent with his friends by the fire and quidditch match celebrations. He would definitely miss it at Hogwarts, but with Sirius it would be better.

Ron and Hermione were huddled by the portrait hole, speaking about the exams. Apparently, Hermione had nearly cast the wrong charm during the practical exam, but she hoped Professor Flitwick hadn’t noticed her hesitation. Harry doubted that it would matter. Hermione would still be at the top of the class. Ron told her so, yet she continued to rant. Harry expected he would hear much more about it on the train ride home, but he wouldn’t complain. It would be the last time he saw his friends for a very long time, and he wanted to make the most of it.

The door to the portrait hole burst open and Professor McGonagill appeared, looking a bit flustered. Harry suspected that she was running a bit behind schedule. Fred and George had mentioned a prank, and Harry had a nagging feeling that her appearance was related to their antics. Harry was definitely going to miss the twins. Maybe he could write to them as well.

The herd of Gryffindors followed McGonagill out the door, clutching their trunks and bags. Harry fumbled with Hedwig’s empty owl cage. He had allowed his owl to fly free last night, informing her that she was to meet him outside the Dursley house. The bird had nodded at him with eyes far too intelligent and then darted out the window. He hoped that she would get there on time; he didn’t want to leave her behind.

Just as Harry stumbled out of the common room, a tall figure with a long, swaying beard stepped out of the shadows.

“Harry, I need you to come with me,” Dumbledore said, leading him away from the other students.

“Right now?” Harry asked. “I can’t miss the train.”

The old man nodded seriously.

“I’m afraid you won’t be taking the Express with the other students. For your own safety, I will be escorting you home.”

“Oh,” Harry said dumbly. He didn’t know what else to say. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron and Hermione looking at him worriedly before McGonagill ushered them around the corner.

This was all wrong. This wasn’t part of the plan. If he went with Dumbledore, he would have to go into the house. If he went into the house, he’d never make it out. If he didn’t make it out, he couldn’t be with Sirius.

His heart was suddenly pounding so fast that he feared he might pass out. The steady thumping noise seemed to block out everything  around him.

“I need to meet with the Minister, but it shouldn’t take long. You can stay up in the common room and I’ll come get you when we’ve finished. I’ve already informed your relatives, and they’ll be expecting you. I’ve also requested to have a little chat with them. Professor Snape mentioned that there may have been a misunderstanding about your aunt.”

Harry couldn’t even speak. His mouth was filled with cotton. He only nodded in response.

“Well, I’ll see you in a little while. I shouldn’t be longer than an hour.” With those words, the man disappeared down the hallway, leaving Harry rooted in place.

Harry waited until the footfalls faded away before pulling the Marauders map from a pocket of his bag.

“I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good,” he said clearly, moving his wand across the parchment. Small, foot-shaped dots appeared all over the map, most of them moving toward the entrance to the castle. Harry could see a set of footprints with the name **Albus Dumbledore** moving away from him at a rapid pace. There were no names on the staircase to the seventh floor. But should he risk it?

Harry wasn’t sure what to do. If he tried to make it to Sirius and he was caught, he’d be risking the safety of his godfather. But if he managed to make it there in time, he still had a chance of obtaining the life he’d always wanted.  

He couldn’t stifle his need to be free of the Dursleys and the people who didn’t know the real Harry. He started running, letting the map lead the way.

He reached the entrance to the room, letting out wheezing breaths of exhaustion. His lungs and legs burned with the effort. He placed his knuckles to the wall, tapping strategically, and the doorway materialized in front of him.

Sirius appeared, looking more startled than Harry had ever seen him.

“Harry, what are you doing here? I was just getting ready to sneak out.”

“Dumbledore’s apparating me to the Dursley’s. I don’t get to ride the train!” Harry exclaimed. “If I go in that house, I don’t think I’ll ever get out. We need to go now!”

“Slow down, Harry. Deep breaths,” he coached, waiting for Harry to stop panting.  “When is Dumbledore taking you?”

“Less than an hour. As soon as he gets done talking to the Minister. He told me to wait in Gryffindor tower, but I used the Marauder’s Map to get here instead,” Harry explained.

“Okay,” Sirius said, appearing deep in thought. “Show me the map.”

Harry handed the parchment over.

“Alright, he’s in his office now. The Minister hasn’t even gotten there yet,” he said pointing to a dot near the Great Hall labeled Cornelius Fudge.

“So, we have time?” Harry asked anxiously.

“We have time,” Sirius assured him. “But we need to go now.”

* * *

 

Severus walked down the hallway toward Gryffindor tower, clutching the golden amulet in his palm.

After his meeting with Harry on Wednesday, he couldn’t squelch the nagging feeling that Harry might not be treated well at his relatives’ house. Even though the boy had insisted his home life was fine, Severus felt that he was hiding something. The problem was that he had no real proof to remove the child from their home.

Instead, he’d decided to give Harry the amulet. It would be completely invisible once around his neck, and when pressed, it would send out an alert directly to Severus. If Harry was in any real danger, he’d be able to help the boy. Maybe that would make the Gryffindor less anxious about returning home. Perhaps it would make Severus less anxious about the boy returning home as well.

He’d informed Albus of the gift, although the old man had insisted that Harry wouldn’t need it. Apparently, Albus was going to sit down and talk with the Dursleys, and he was going to be very clear how they should be treating the boy. Severus wasn’t sure if the conversation would help or not. Harry hadn’t seemed to think that it would.

Regardless of the headmaster’s opinion, he was going to give Harry the amulet as an extra precaution. He expected that the boy would appreciate it. It was important for him to feel safe and secure.

Severus reached the portrait of the fat lady and gave the password. After using the special unlocking charm placed by the headmaster, the portrait swung open, revealing the empty common room. Severus stepped inside.

He’d never been inside Gryffindor’s common room before, and he couldn’t help but crinkle his nose at the gaudy display of maroon and gold decorations. From the floor to the chairs to the ceiling, everything was covered in Gryffindor colors. It was the visual equivalent of someone screaming directly into your ear. He needed to speak to Harry, but then he was getting the hell out of there.

“Harry!” He called. His voice echoed in the cavernous room, but the boy didn’t appear.

Deciding that the boy must be up in his dormitory, Severus ascended the staircase.

“Harry!” He called again, but the boy didn’t appear.

He knocked three times on the surface of the door to the third-year boy’s dormitory, but there was no answer.

_Perhaps he’s asleep…_

Severus threw the door open. The room was practically devoid of belongings. Only five identical beds sat against the walls. The boy was not inside.

_Where is he?_

Severus was beginning to panic. He’d met Albus on the way up the stairs, and the man had assured him that Harry would be in the tower. Had something happened to Harry after he left? Or perhaps the boy had decided to try something foolish, like run away. The latter seemed like the better explanation, but either way he needed to inform the headmaster.

He left the tower, scanning the halls for signs of the brat. He hoped that Harry had just decided to wander the castle for his own amusement, but the worried rumbling of his gut didn’t cease.

By the time he’d reached the headmaster’s office, his apprehension had turned to dread. What if Black had found the boy again? What if this time Severus wasn’t there to save him?

He spoke the password to the gargoyle, feeling ridiculous for saying the words “Sherbet Lemon” to a statue. Without hesitation, he climbed the stairs and burst into the room. Albus and Cornelius both appeared startled by his intrusion.

“Ah, Severus, is something the matter?”

“The boy is missing,” he stated plainly. He saw no reason to beat around the bush.

“You searched the tower?” The headmaster asked with concern.

Severus nodded tersely. “He’s not there.”

He found himself growing aggravated at the older man. He should have known not to leave Harry alone. The boy was a magnet for trouble. He should be watched constantly for his own good.

“What boy?” The minister chimed in.

Severus and the headmaster shared a worried glance.

“Harry Potter,” Albus said finally.

The Minister looked astonished.

“I’ll lock down the castle,” Albus stated. “We need to be on the lookout for Black. Most of the staff members have already left, but I think Minerva and Filius are still here.”

“I’ll inform the dementors,” Cornelius insisted. “Black won’t get far once they’re in the castle.”

“Is that really necessary? For all we know, Mr. Potter is just wandering around by himself. He doesn’t deal well with dementors,” Severus said.

It was likely that Harry was trying to avoid being sent back to his relatives. After his anxious behavior about returning home, it made sense that he would try to run. Severus doubted that Black was even involved.

“Do you really want to take that chance? Besides, they won’t harm the boy. They’re trained to catch Black, not an innocent student. The dementors weren’t allowed inside last time, and Black got away. We can make sure that doesn’t’ happen again,” The Minister shot back.

Severus resisted the urge to growl. If something went wrong and a dementor hurt that boy, there would be hell to pay.

Harry scurried down the hall beside the invisible dog, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. As all of his belongings had been shrunk to fit in the single rucksack, it was quite heavy and troublesome to maneuver, but he ignored how it dug into his back as he ran.

He glanced over, only seeing the dark, gray walls. Before leaving the room, he’d hidden Sirius beneath the invisibility cloak, so the only indication that the man was beside him was the sound of his heavy paws drumming against the stone floor.

He glanced apprehensively at the map again, his throat closing up at the sight of it. The Minister was leaving. Harry could clearly see his dot moving back toward the castle entrance at a brisk pace. At any moment, Dumbledore would go to the tower and find it empty.  Could they make it out in time?

“Sirius,” he whispered, glancing around for the hidden canine.

He heard the heavy paws ahead of him halt and turn around.

“The minister is leaving,” Harry said.

From beneath the cloak, he heard the shrill whine of the dog, which he assumed meant that they needed to hurry.

The two of them hurdled down the staircase, taking them two at a time. They were nearly to the bottom, when Harry spotted a pair of feet on the map charging out of an empty classroom on the next floor. McGonagill was only a corridor away.

“We have to go right,” he said frantically, swerving onto another platform.

Harry’s short legs stumbled over a few more steps and he saw the entrance to the owlery in the distance. He glanced toward the map again, noting that no one was inside. Another glance told him that the few inhabitants of the castle were scurrying around like mad. Flitwick was running up a third-floor staircase, McGonagill had moved on to the corridor near the Hufflepuff common room, Dumbledore was checking one of the secret passages, and Snape was… Snape was headed right for them.

There was no question. The teachers knew he was missing. He suspected that the exits to the castle had been blocked again.

“Come on,” he panted, hoping his godfather would follow him.

Harry knew what he had to do. They could restore his broom to its original size and fly out of one of the vast windows. Hopefully, they could make it off the grounds before anyone saw them. They darted into the room, and Harry latched the door closed behind them.

With dexterity he didn’t know he possessed, Harry seized his broom from his bag and performed the wand movement in one fluid motion.

“Engorgio.”

The Nimbus 2000 grew within his sweaty palm.

“Get on behind me,” Harry instructed, when the man appeared beside him.

“Are you sure, Harry? We’ve never flown together. It won’t be the same as flying by yourself.”

“I can do it,” Harry assured him. “Put the cloak back on in case someone sees.”

Sirius looked like he wanted to argue, but the severity of the situation forced him to obey. He climbed on behind his godson and disappeared.

Harry shivered and pushed off from the ground, trying to control the trembling of his numb fingers.

He was covered in sweat from all the running, so why was he suddenly so cold?

“Hurry, Harry!” Sirius cried, the fear evident in his voice.

Why did he sound so panicked?

Harry obeyed, shooting out a large, rectangular hole in the wall. They soared above the castle grounds, that were only barely lit by the dwindling sunset.

Sirius had been right. There was definitely a significant difference between flying alone and carrying an extra person’s weight. His Nimbus would only move half as fast and he found that he had very little control.

“They’re coming,” Sirius hissed, his voice dripping with dread. “We need to go faster.”

“I’m going as fast as I can.”

Using all his strength, Harry veered slightly to the right, narrowly avoiding one of the castle’s pointy towers.

“Up ahead,” Sirius instructed forcefully. “Go toward the gates. The wards will end as soon as we pass them.”

Harry could barely register his godfather’s voice over the chattering of his own teeth, but he followed the man’s directions.

Suddenly, a black mass blocked his view of the distant gates.

“Wha-“ he started to say. But then the sky and the trees and the ground were disappearing all around him. The howling of the wind turned to screams. Vines of dread crept around his body, coiling across his arms and legs and tugging until he feared he would be torn apart, limb from limb.

“HARRY!”

He vaguely heard his name being screamed, but it sounded so distant, so far away. Perhaps it wasn’t even real.

He felt himself falling. Down. Down. Down. He was diving, diving head first into the pool of liquid darkness. Would he drown in it? Would the dark substance fill his lungs and his veins until he was completely full? Would he disappear beneath it, sinking and sputtering until he ceased to exist?

“HARRY!” someone yelled again, and then he felt himself being hurled violently to the right.

A tree materialized in the periphery of his vision. Then another whizzed by on his left. Then he registered that he was still on a broom.

They were descending at a rapid pace, traveling much too close to the ground and numerous other obstacles to be safe. He anticipated the collision seconds before his knees rammed roughly into a mound of dirt. His body glided across the ground, twisting and contorting until he lay motionless in the grass.

Ow… He rose shakily from the ground, feeling as though he’d been hit by a truck. The world around him spun slightly. He scanned the area around him for his godfather, but he couldn’t find him.

“Sirius!” He called frantically. “Sirius!”

He heard a hoarse cough nearby and watched with relief as his godfather appeared from beneath the invisibility cloak.

“I’m here, Harry,” he said weakly.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I couldn’t see,” Harry blurted.

“Hey, it’s not your fault. It was the dementors,” he assured him. “Now, we need to find a way out of here, they were right behind us.”

The dementors. Of course. Harry should have recognized the familiar feeling of happiness being drained from his body and the coldness that left his insides frozen. But how could they escape? His broom was lying broken in the grass, shattered upon its impact with the Earth. They could try to run on foot, but it was unlikely they had the stamina. Both of their bodies were weak with fatigue.

The first traces of frigid air began seeping back into their bones. They were back.

“What do we do?” Harry asked worriedly, locking eyes with Sirius.

The man’s gaze was filled with agony and intensity.

“We fight.”

Harry raised his wand, imitating his godfather’s stance, but as soon as the dementors drew closer, his grasp on reality began to fade.

The blackness swirled around him like a tornado, groping at him with long, scraggly fingers. From within the darkness came a voice that spewed slurred words. Black breath tainted with alcohol reached his nose and stung his eyes. Black arms twisted around his torso. A black tongue trailed down his cheek.

Harry staggered back, attempting to escape, but the black was everywhere.

Screams of a woman and screams of his uncle and even his own screams filled the air and echoed in the night. Flickers of cold, dead eyes pierced his soul. Then someone pushed him down roughly. His shoulder bones dug deep into the dirt, and his face was squashed beneath a heavy mass. The man from the alley was back, and this time he couldn’t escape. 

* * *

 

Black was with the boy. Severus could just barely make out the two figures near the entrance to the forbidden forest. They appeared to be locked in an intense battle with their wands raised, all while a herd of dementors circled around, struggling to decide which one of them to kiss.

The coldness nipped at his core as he got closer, and he found it difficult to keep moving, but he strode onward. He’d sent his patronus to Dumbledore the second that he’d spotted the two of them, but now he wished that he hadn’t. If one of the dementors attacked Harry, he would have no way of stopping them.

He knelt down near a small shrub and pointed his wand at Black. From this distance, it was nearly impossible to get a clear shot, but he had to try. If the opportunity presented itself he would use the killing curse without batting an eye, but Harry was his top priority, and he couldn’t risk hitting the boy.

One of the shadowy, cloaked figures hurled itself toward Black who thrust a wand up high in the air.

“Expecto patronum!”

A small wisp of white fog fizzed from the tip of his wand, only barely deterring the dementor. It wasn’t long until the formless cloud dissipated, leaving Black defenseless again.

This time though, the dementor lunged for Harry, who stumbled backward clumsily.

Black launched himself in front of the boy, shooting off a spell.

At first, Severus thought he was attacking Harry, but instead a flurry of white fog covered them again, causing the dementors to scatter.

_How odd… Perhaps Black has a more sinister plan for the child?_

The black figures assaulted the two wizards again, and this time, Black’s spell was not successful. He couldn’t even complete the incantation before the hooded figures were too close. They crowded all around the two of them, dancing in a spherical pattern like demons in the night.

Severus had been so transfixed by Black’s actions that he neglected to watch the boy who was cowering with empty eyes as a dementor descended upon him. Severus jumped up from his position, ready to do anything to protect the child. His heart seemed to stop completely in the seconds that followed.

He watched Black, who was staring with an identical expression of horror, launch himself at the boy and attack- No… Not attack. Protect.

Black threw his own body on top of Harry’s, burying the boy’s face with his thin torso. The convict left himself completely unshielded from the crowd of black hoods that were close enough to touch. The floating figures leaned forward and took turns drawing every last breath out of the ragged-looking man. Silver tendrils of light burst from the man’s lips as they sucked what little life was left within him. They kept sucking until the last flickers of light bled into the night, casting them all in shadow.

Severus heard movement behind him and turned to see his patronus racing back towards him. Just as it disappeared back into his wand, he cast it out again.

A shining, silver doe erupted from the tip of his wand and raced toward the boy, throwing the dementors back with little effort. The hooded figures fled in terror, disappearing into the trees that lined the forest.

Severus rushed forward as fast as he could will his legs to move, shoving the limp body off of the boy. Harry lay completely still beneath him, eyes wide and staring up at the dark sky.

“Harry?” Severus asked. He placed a gentle hand on the boy’s arm, trying to prop him into a sitting position.

His cloudy emerald eyes were suddenly alert. They darted all around, finally landing on the shell of Sirius Black.

Harry launched himself at Black. His small hands pulled at the man’s shirt, trying to elicit a response.

“Sirius!” He screamed. “Sirius, wake up!”

“Harry,” Severus spoke gently. “Harry, he’s not going to wake up. The dementor kissed him. He’s gone.”

“He’s breathing,” Harry argued. “Look!”

The man’s chest rose and fell, but that was the only sign that he was still alive. Harry didn’t seem to understand that the man was dead in every way that counted. He would never wake. He would never be the man that Harry had known.

“Harry, his soul is gone. He’s just a shell,” Severus pleaded, willing the boy to understand.

“No, Sirius wake up!” he sobbed, clinging to his godfather. The boy yanked at the man’s arms, trying to pull him up, but his small frame was shaking too furiously to make much progress.

It was only then that Severus recognized they were not alone. The remaining members of the castle were now out on the lawn watching with tear-filled eyes as the boy tried to revive his godfather. Minerva had her hand covering her mouth, Filius was openly crying into a handkerchief, and even Dumbledore had a few tears lingering on his cheeks. The minister however was not fazed. He looked more annoyed at the situation than anything else.

Cornelius walked toward Harry and scoffed. “Stop this nonsense, boy,” he commanded sternly.

When Harry didn’t stop, the Minister leaned down and attempted to pry his fingers from the corpse.

“NO!” Harry screamed, fighting against the older man’s hold. The boy lashed out, kicking and flailing his arms, but Severus rushed forward and held him tight.

“He’s a murderer. This is exactly what he deserved,” Cornelius shouted at the boy.

“NO! HE’S INNOCENT!” Harry insisted, swinging a fist toward the Minister.

Severus’s grip on the bony child nearly faltered as Harry fought against him. The boy was much stronger than he appeared.

“He’s brainwashed you, boy,” Cornelius spat mirthfully.

“Fuck you,” Harry snarled.

The Minister looked taken aback by the child’s malicious tone. Severus had never seen the boy look so angry. His eyes blazed with uncontrollable rage. He flailed against Severus trying to lunge for the old man, but the potion’s master managed to restrain him.

Cornelius banished the body with the flick of his wrist, causing Harry to let out a feral scream.

“He’s gone,” Severus whispered gently in the child’s ear, his voice thick and dry. “He’s gone, Harry.”

The boy’s screams faltered. “No,” he choked, his body becoming limp. He turned to face Severus and then stumbled forward.

Severus clutched the trembling child to his chest and curled his arms around him. Feral sobs racked the boy’s body, escaping from his mouth with each gasp for air. From within his embrace, Severus could hear Harry’s voice, raw with emotion. He was mumbling something so silently that it was nearly impossible to decipher. But then, suddenly, Severus heard it.

“He promised.” Harry whispered over and over, gripping Severus’s robes as if they were the only thing keeping him upright.

Severus leaned his head down closer. “What did he promise?” He asked softly.

“He was supposed to take me away,” Harry cried, burrowing closer to the man. “Why does everyone leave me?” The glassy, tear filled eyes turned to look up at him.

Severus stared into the anguished face and felt a lump growing in his throat.

He ignored the fact that Sirius Black had been his enemy for as long as he could remember. He ignored that the man had been an escaped convict that was charged with several murders. He ignored all of his instincts and focused on Harry. The boy had obviously cared for the man, and from what he had seen, Black had cared about the child too.

“I don’t know,” he replied seriously, at a loss for words.

The boy’s face crumpled again, and the tears ran down his face freely as his legs gave out from beneath him.

They sank to the ground together, Severus still holding him close. He wasn’t sure what to do. He wasn’t the gentle type. Should he be patting his back? Were his actions only making things worse? This would be a much better job for Minerva, or anyone else actually, but for some unknown reason, he still couldn’t bring himself to let go of the broken child sobbing in his arms.

 


	32. Chapter 32

In the darkness, he waited. His bony fingers brushed along the rough edges of his inescapable prison, feeling the tickling sensation of a gossamer web clinging to his grime-covered skin. He didn’t flinch away from the feeling; spiders did not scare him. He was used to spiders.

He listened with rapt attention to the subtle sounds of movement above him. He could hear the faint murmurs of someone shuffling across worn, wooden floorboards. At the noise, his eyes widened, even though he could see nothing in the pitch blackness. There were heavy footfalls on the stairs. _Not Vernon. Not Vernon._ He shuddered and pressed himself to the floor. He felt the cool, gritty panels under his cheek, and breathed in deeply, recognizing the familiar scent of dirt and decaying wood.

Then he heard more footsteps. _No. No. No. No…._

The footsteps grew louder until they matched the sound of Harry’s pounding heart. They grew closer and closer, until Harry could detect a presence only inches away, separated by a thin, wooden door.

For a moment, everything stilled. The person outside made no movement, and Harry was frozen to the floor. But then, slowly, the lock on the door turned. He held his breath.

It was only Aunt Petunia, bringing his food for the day. She grimaced at him, slammed the plate down, and shut the door. Harry sighed. That meant it was a new day.

He drew a single slash mark on the wall with the broken pencil he’d found wedged under his mattress. There were seven now, though he felt like there should be at least a hundred. He hadn’t seen anything outside of his cupboard in the week since he’d been dropped at the Dursleys. Not that he cared much anymore.

Aunt Petunia came by once a day to bring him food. Normally it was just a can of soup, but sometimes she left a slice of plain bread too. Most days he didn’t even look at it twice before pushing it to the side. He wasn’t hungry. He added today’s can to the pile. One of the slices of bread was starting to mold.

He hadn’t even seen a glimpse of Uncle Vernon, though he knew the man was there. Harry had heard him arguing with Aunt Petunia on the night that he’d been dropped off. He’d bitten his fingernails down to nubs during the noisy conversation. It was clear that Vernon was not pleased with his arrival. Actually, he was more than not pleased. The man wanted to kill him. Aunt Petunia had convinced Vernon to leave Harry alone, although the boy had no idea how she’d done it.

Harry almost wished she hadn’t. He knew a death by Vernon’s hand would be painful, but it couldn’t be more painful than what he was already feeling. The hollow ache in his chest was threatening to tear him apart.

There were no words to describe the agony in his head. He had to do everything he could to keep his mind off of Sirius. Each time Harry thought of the man he would jab himself in the arm with the pencil. It wasn’t very sharp, but he still winced every time the lead tore into his flesh. He thought that the physical pain was preferable to his emotions.

Another pang ripped through his chest and he slammed the pencil down onto his arm, wincing when he heard a crack. The lead was broken. There was nothing left to silence his thoughts. He launched the pencil at the wall with all his force, letting out a pitiful cry of frustration. His outburst caused the stone around his neck to flop up and smack him in the jaw.

Harry fumbled soberly with the heavy amulet. It had a shiny golden chain that glimmered when the light shone through the crack in the door at a particular angle. Harry wondered if it were real gold. Connected to the chain was a translucent stone that he thought was the same deep green color of his eyes. It was actually very pretty. He couldn’t believe that it had been a present from Snape.

***.

“Harry, you need to tell me what happened. If you still refuse to talk to the ministry officials, you may tell me. I will not give them any information that they do not need to know.”

Harry was growing tired of Dumbledore insisting that he had to explain everything that had happened. It was none of his business. It was all between him and Sirius.

 _Sirius_. Harry felt the ache in his chest pang sharply at the slightest thought of his name. He had tried everything not to think of the man, but nothing was working. It was impossible to forget him, to forget what happened, to forget that Harry had killed him.

“He’s dead,” Harry whispered, though he was mainly talking to himself.

“Yes. Sirius Black is dead,” the old man said solemnly. “I understand that he tried to protect you. Do you know why?”

Harry wasted no time thinking about his response. Sirius had made sure he knew why. “He loved me.”

Dumbledore let out a sigh as if Harry were a small child who couldn’t understand basic information. “Harry, I think you’re confused. Sirius Black is loyal to Voldemort. It is highly unlikely that he was saving you out of the goodness of his heart.”

Harry’s mouth melted into a thin, straight line. He decided not to talk to the old man again. Sirius loved him. He did.

“Please Harry. Help me to understand.”

Harry stared straight at the man, and at the same time, straight through him.

Dumbledore sighed. “There is something you need to know, my boy. Something important. I had hoped to tell you when you were older, but I think it’s imperative that you know now.”

Harry refused to look interested in what the man had to say. How could anything be important if Sirius was dead?

“There was a prophecy made right before you were born,” he began.

Harry grew more and more angry as the man relayed the prophecy. He was the reason that his parents were killed. He had to kill Voldemort. The entire world was relying on him. It meant that he was the reason that every bad thing had ever happened. And he had assumed that things couldn’t get any worse. Things always got worse.

After dumping the heavy information onto the shoulders of the thirteen-year-old, the headmaster left, leaving Harry to stew alone in the silence.

Harry peered around the empty room. His first instinct was to run. He could flee the castle alone. Now that the dementors were gone there was nothing stopping his escape.

But Harry was tired. His limbs felt weak and brittle. He could barely lift his head from the pillow. He knew that he had no chance.

His second thought was to raid the infirmary cupboard. There were dozens of potions in the hospital wing. Surely, if he downed a few potent ones that’d be enough to kill him, or at least knock him unconscious for a while. Better yet, he assumed that Pomfrey had some tools lying around somewhere. Maybe she had a scalpel he could use.

But as quickly as the idea had come to him, he realized he couldn’t do it. He could never do it now. Not with what he knew. If he ever killed himself, then Voldemort could return and there’d be no one who could stop him. Everyone he knew would die because of his selfishness. He couldn’t do it.

Feeling completely hollow, Harry settled back onto the pillows and stared up at the ceiling. He pressed his fingernails deep into his palms until he was sure he felt the first drips of blood rising to his skin’s surface. It felt good.

“Harming yourself will not help you Mr. Potter,” a low voice called from the doorway.

Harry glanced over and glared at the hook-nosed man who was staring at him disapprovingly. “I’m not harming myself.”

Snape stalked over to his bedside and gently pried Harry’s nails out of his palms. Little, purple, crescent-shaped indentations sprouted all across his pale skin. A few of them glistened with red. The man grabbed a small jar off the shelf and cradled Harry’s hands in his own, softly applying the salve. Immediately the marks disappeared, and the pain went with it. Harry frowned.

“Please do not attempt such a thing again,” Snape said darkly. “Self-harm is not a healthy way to deal with your problems.”

“Whatever,” Harry muttered, turning to face the wall.

“The headmaster has informed me that you still believe Black was innocent and that he meant you no harm.”

“And you’re here to tell me I’m barmy,” Harry interrupted.

“No. I think you may be right.”

Harry turned to look at the man in shock. “You do?”

“I saw him try to protect you. What I don’t understand is why. What was your relationship with that man? How did you even end up with Black?”

Harry considered his answer carefully. He wanted to make Snape understand. He wanted to clear his godfather’s name. But he wasn’t sure how. Not without raising more questions about himself. The last thing he needed was for Snape to find out about what happened that night in the astronomy tower.

After several moments of silence, Harry spoke. “He’s my godfather,” he said, and then remembered. “He _was_ my godfather.”

Harry fought against the tears that pricked his eyes, subconsciously digging his fingernails into his arm.

Snape offered him an oddly sympathetic look and then separated his nails from his skin again.

“You cared for him?”

“Yes,” Harry sniffed, looking down with embarrassment. He was sure that Snape was going to berate him for his tears, but then he remembered himself sobbing in the man’s arms yesterday. His face flushed with color.

Snape looked pensive for a moment, and then nodded slowly.

Harry wasn’t sure why Snape decided to stop the questions there. Perhaps he had seen the embarrassment on his face. Perhaps he had seen how close Harry was to falling apart all over again. Maybe he wanted to spare himself from another uncomfortable encounter. Regardless of the reason, Snape changed the subject.

“I wanted to talk with you about your relatives.”

“Why?” Harry asked. He had forgotten all about the Dursleys. Sirius had promised that he’d never see them again.

“The headmaster insists that you are taken there tonight, and I know how worried you were about going there when I last spoke with you.”

“If Dumbledore says I have to go back, then what’s the point of talking about it. It’s not like he’s gonna change his mind.”

“I’m sure if there was any serious concern about your wellbeing, the headmaster would make other arrangements.”

As if they’d even believe him if he tried to tell them. Harry had tried to tell before, and it backfired. Once in primary school, he’d told a teacher about the bruises on his arms when she’d asked. She was a pretty young woman who’d always smiled at him in the hallway when he’d passed. She’d spoken with the Dursleys the next morning, and after that, she never smiled at him again. Harry didn’t know what Vernon and Petunia could have told her, but they must have spun a convincing lie. He hadn’t bothered to try and tell anyone after that; his punishment had been too severe.

Besides, Snape would be the last person to ever believe him about the Dursleys. What was Harry supposed to say? _My uncle beats me. My aunt starves me. My cousin beats me up. I grew up in a cupboard. They all hate me and want me dead._ If he said any of that to Snape, he was sure the man would go off on a rant about how spoiled Potter was just angry that his relatives didn’t worship him.

“They treat me fine.”

“Nevertheless, I want you to have this,” Snape said, pulling a long chain from the pocket of his ebony robes. “I think that you should feel safe in your own home, and if for any reason that is not the case, you should squeeze the green stone and it will send an alert straight to me.”

The man placed the glittering jewel in Harry’s hand.

“Uhh… Thank you, sir.”

***

Lucius Malfoy was beaming, and it was not a pleasant sight.

Severus had somehow known that his meeting with the man would not go well. From the start, there had been a heavy weight in his stomach, something warning him of what was to come, and after the events of last week, he really needed some good news. Little did he know, things were going to get much much worse.

The first words that Lucius said were: “They found the gun.”

At first, Severus had been intrigued. Perhaps they would finally find his mystery boy. It seemed like ages ago that he’d seen the child, but the boy hadn’t completely left his thoughts. Although most of his mind was filled with worries about Harry these days.

“And the child?” Severus asked apprehensively.

“I suspect that the _child_ may not have been a child at all.”

Severus narrowed his eyes in confusion at the man.

“Ministry officials found the same gun in possession of Sirius Black at the time of his death.”

“Excuse me?”

“Black was also found with Antonin’s wand. I expect that he was under the disguise of a child to avoid suspicion. Antonin must have run across him and tried to attack, and Black attacked him with the muggle tool."

 _No._ Severus didn’t believe a word of it. It didn’t make sense. The child that had locked eyes with him in that apothecary was definitely not Black. Sirius Black would never have looked at him with such despair and desperation. He would have held his head high and probably shot at Snape just for the fun of it. That child hadn’t wanted to fight him. That child had needed help.

But why else would Sirius Black have the gun and the wand? If Black had a wand, why would he even bother trying to shoot Harry? Severus didn’t even recall Black possessing a wand during that night in the tower.

And suddenly the memories were swirling around and around him, sucking the breath from his lungs. He saw Black and Harry. Harry and Black. There was a gun. The gun was pointed at Harry. Black was going to shoot him. Why else would he point a gun at Harry?

The images grew clearer and clearer until he swore the moment was unfolding right in front of him again. Severus tiptoed up the stairs and peered around the corner. He could feel the stone wall beneath his fingertips again, felt the fear building in his stomach again. Two figures were huddled together on the floor. Two hands gripped the gun. No… No, there were four hands. Harry’s thin fingers were wrapped around the barrel. Why would Black have the gun so close? Harry could have easily pushed it away.

The moment replayed again. And again. And again. It played out so slowly that Severus could have sworn Harry had given the gun to Black. There was a split second where Black’s hands had not even been touching it. But that made no sense. Or did it?

There had been no fear on Harry’s face. No. In fact, he had looked almost hopeful. And Black. Black had seemed upset. There had still been tear tracks on his gaunt, red face. And the gun had gotten farther away from Harry as if Black had taken it from the boy, as if the gun had been Harry’s…

Something seemed to click within his mind. Harry’s thin face stared up at him with fearful, tear-filled eyes… Only they weren’t his eyes. They weren’t covered with his circle-framed spectacles, and they were brown. His face was framed by hair that was both too short and too light. But it was Harry. _Oh God! It was Harry…_

“Are you alright, Severus?” Lucius questioned.

“Of course,” he said. But he was not alright. He felt sick.

“It’s a pity that our mystery boy wasn’t real. The Dark Lord would have been very interested in a child with so much potential,” the man sighed. “But I suppose I will have plenty of interesting information to surprise him with upon his return. And I’m sure he’ll be very interested in what you know about Potter.”

“So, the Dark Lord will be returning to us soon?”

“Look at your wrist Severus,” he said, and Severus lifted his sleeve. “Haven’t you noticed the mark growing darker? He’s getting stronger every day.”

Severus stared down at his skin with hidden horror.

 


End file.
